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Copyright, 1893, by 
American Book Company. 

Scott’s Abbot. 



Iprinteb 
TlClm. Hvison 
mew Korft, Tfl. S. H. 


INTRODUCTION. 


“The Abbot,” like “The Monastery,” to which it is in some 
degree a sequel, was published in 1820, the year after the appear- 
ance of “ Ivanhoe.” “ The Monastery ” had been severely criti- 
cised, especially for the supernatural element introduced’ by the 
White Lady ; and Scott, though at the height of his fame, and 
having just received his baronetcy, seems to have thought his 
popularity at stake. “ I was tempted,” he says in the intro- 
duction to “ The Abbot,” “ to try whether I could not restore . . . 
my so-called reputation by a new hazard.” This new hazard 
was the somewhat dangerous experiment of awakening “the 
memory of Queen Mary, so interesting by her wit, her beauty, 
her misfortunes, and the mystery which still does, and probably 
always will, overhang her history.” The experiment, though 
rendered doubly dangerous by the unsolved problem of Mary’s 
guilt or innocence, proved in a high degree successful. 

“ The picture in ‘ The Abbot,’ ” wrote the late Walter Bagehot, 
in his study of the Waverly Novels, “is principally the picture of 
the Queen as the fond traditions of his [Scott’s] countrymen ex- 
hibited her. Her entire innocence, it is true, is never alleged ; 
but the enthusiasm of her followers is dwelt on with approving 
sympathy ; their confidence is set forth at large ; her influence 

5 


6 


INTRODUCTION. 


over them is skillfully delineated; . . . Scott could not, how- 
ever, as a close study will show us, quite conceal the unfavorable 
nature of his fundamental opinion.” 

The time of the chief events of the story lies between June, 
1567, when Mary was imprisoned in Lochleven Castle, and May 
13, 1568, the date of the battle of Langside. For a clear under- 
standing of the political situation of Scotland in" that year, a 
brief account of the previous history of Mary’s reign is necessary. 

Mary Stuart, daughter of James V., was born in 1542, the year 
of her father’s death, and crowned in 1543. Henry VIII. of 
England, supported by the Protestant party in Scotland, wished 
to marry her to his son, in order to unite the two kingdoms ; but 
she fell into the hands of the Catholic party, and in 1547 was 
sent to France, and betrothed to the Dauphin, afterwards Fran- 
cis II., whom she married in 1558. 

In 1557 the Protestant nobles, alarmed at the French guards 
of the Queen Mother, Mary of Guise, who was then Regent, 
pledged themselves, in the “ First Covenant,” to support the 
Reformed Church. The Regent opposed the growth of the 
Reformation, even by persecution, and the Protestants took up 
arms, and asked help of Queen Elizabeth, who succeeded to 
her father’s throne in 1558. Mary’s claim to the English throne, 
through her father’s mother, Margaret, sister of Henry VIII., was 
thought by many English Catholics better than that of Elizabeth, 
daughter of Henry VIII. and Anne Boleyn, whose legitimacy had 
never been publicly declared. The reestablishment of Catholi- 
cism in Scotland might, therefore, lead to an invasion of England. 
An English army was accordingly sent to assist the Scottish Re- 
formers, and the treaty of Edinburgh was finally concluded, by 
which the government of Scotland, during Mary’s absence, was 


IN TROD UCTION. 


7 


placed in the hands of a council of nobles, and religious matters 
were left to the decision of Parliament. Although Mary refused 
to ratify this treaty, Parliament, acting upon it, accepted the 
Calvinistic Confession of Faith, and rendered a third celebration 
of the mass punishable with death. 

In 1561 Mary, now a widow, returned to Scotland, promising 
not to disturb the Protestantism now established. At first her 
rule was guided by her half-brother, Lord James Stuart, after- 
wards Earl of Murray, who belonged to the Reformers, but was 
faithful also to his sister. She even put down a Catholic uprising 
led by the Earl of Huntley. She asked Elizabeth to advise her 
about a new marriage, hoping that Elizabeth would acknowledge 
her claim to the English succession (which had been ignored in 
Henry VI II.’s will), possibly with the purpose, too, of anticipating 
Elizabeth’s death by an invasion. As, however, the husband 
proposed, Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, was of insufficient 
rank, she suddenly decided to unite her claims with those of her 
Catholic cousin, Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, son of the Earl 
of Lennox, who was the descendant, by a second husband, of 
Mary’s own grandmother, Margaret Tudor. 

This marriage took place July 29, 1665 ; but as Darnley proved 
petulant and dissipated, Mary refused to grant him the crown 
matrimonial. Attributing this refusal to the influence of David 
Rizzio, an Italian musician, now the Queen’s secretary, Darnley, 
with certain of the Protestant lords, who hated Rizzio as the rep- 
resentative of Papal power, conspired against him. On the 9th 
of March, 1566, while Mary was at supper with Rizzio at Holy- 
rood, Ruthven, Darnley, and others entered, dragged the Italian 
from the room, and stabbed him in the corridor, which is still 
said to bear the stains of his blood. Mary fled with Darnley, 


8 


INTRODUCTION. 


whom she had won to betray his fellow-conspirators, and returned 
to Edinburgh with an army headed by James Hepburn, Earl 
of Bothwell, a brutal Border noble, with a polish of French 
courtesy. Her son was born June 19, 1566. He became James 
VI. of Scotland, and later, James I. of England. 

In spite of her pretended reconciliation with Darnley, she 
secretly loathed him, the more because he stood in the way of 
her marriage with Bothwell, with whom she had fallen genuinely 
in love. As the Protestant lords also hated Darnley for his 
treachery, Bothwell entered into a conspiracy with some of them. 
During the night of Feb. 9, 1567, Darnley was blown up in 
the lonely house outside of Edinburgh, in which he had been 
lodged by the Queen’s orders. Bothwell was accused of the 
murder, and acquitted only through a hurried trial and a legal 
subterfuge. A few days later, he invited several of the lords to a 
supper at Ainslie’s tavern, and, by force or persuasion, prevailed 
on them to sign a bond advising the Queen to marry him. As 
his contemplated marriage, however, was still unpopular, he way- 
laid the Queen on her return from a visit to her son, then in 
the hands of the Protestant lords at Stirling, and carried her off 
to his castle of Dunbar. 

Her marriage to him, on the 1 5th of May, brought on an attack 
from the Protestant party, who accused her of conniving at 
Darnley’s murder. At the battle of Carberry Hill, in June, Both- 
well’s army deserted him, and Mary, bidding him escape, sur- 
rendered. She was imprisoned in Lochleven Castle, while Mur- 
ray was made Regent in the name of the infant King. 

The history of certain of the private individuals of the story 
depends upon some of the incidents narrated in “The Monas- 


INTRODUCTION. 


9 


tery,” the date of which is supposed to be from ten to fifteen 
years earlier. The widow of Walter Avenel, a Border baron 
killed during the English invasion in 1547, takes refuge with the 
widow of a vassal of the Abbey of Kennaquhair, Elspeth Glen- 
dinning, who inhabits a small tower in the secluded valley of 
Glendearg. Meantime, Julian Avenel, brother of Walter, seizes 
the castle, and makes it a nest of Border-riders. 

The Lady of Avenel soon dies, and is found to have been 
secretly a Protestant. The monks attempt to take her Bible, a 
forbidden book, to the convent, but are mysteriously robbed of it 
by the White Lady, the guardian spirit of the House of Avenel. 

Mary, the heiress of Avenel, grows up with the sons of Els- 
peth, and is secretly loved by both. Halbert, the elder, jealous 
because Edward is the companion of her studies, invokes the 
White Lady, and recovers the Bible. He then appeals to the 
phantom for vengeance for the insults of Sir Piercie Shafton, an 
English Catholic knight, in hiding from a charge of treason, and 
quartered at the tower by the Abbot. She aids him to such pur- 
pose that, thinking he has killed Sir Piercie in a duel, he flees, on 
his way falling in with the Protestant minister, Henry Warden, 
who gives him a recommendation to the Earl of Murray, head of 
the Protestant party. 

With Murray he wins high favor, and is sent later to prevent 
a conflict between the forces of the Abbey, led by Julian Avenel, 
and English troops sent to demand Sir Piercie. Arriving too 
late, he finds Julian Avenel dying in the arms of a young woman, 
whom he had declared to be “ handfasted ” to him, or married, 
by an old custom, for a year only. She dies also, leaving a 
little son, who is given in charge to Sir Piercie’s peasant wife. 
Mary Avenel, who has become a Protestant through the preach- 


IO 


INTRODUCTION. 


ing of Warden, is married to Halbert, who has also been con- 
verted, while Edward enters the Monastery. The White Lady, 
however, is seen to mourn over the marriage, which she had 
endeavored to prevent. 

The rich Abbey of St. Mary’s at Melrose, here called Kerr- 
naquhair, situated on the Tweed under the Eildon Hills, was 
founded by David I. early in the twelfth century, and belonged 
to the Cistercians, or stricter, branch of the Benedictine monks, 
an order founded in 1098, at Citeaux (Cistercium), in France. 
This Abbey, which was adorned by the most beautiful Gothic 
buildings in Scotland, had been already described by Scott in 
“ The Lay of the Last Minstrel,” and was probably of particular 
interest to him, for the estate of Abbotsford, which he bought in 
18 1 1, was within five miles of Melrose. The contrast between 
the early wealth and power of the Abbey, as it is described in 
“ The Monastery,” and its ruin and decline, as shown in “ The 
Abbot,” seems to have fascinated his imagination. 

The Castle and Lake of Avenel are inventions of the author. 
The time of the story is also confused to fit his purpose ; an in- 
terval of ten years is supposed to intervene between the marriage 
of Mary Avenel and the opening of “ The Abbot,” where not 
more than three can have elapsed. The most important of the 
minor inaccuracies are mentioned in the notes. 


THE ABBOT. 


CHAPTER I. 



HE time which passes over our heads so imperceptibly, 


JL makes the same gradual change in habits, manners, and 
character, as in personal appearance. At the revolution of every 
five years we find ourselves another, and yet the same. There is 
a change of views, and no less of the light in which we regard 
them; a change of motives as well as of actions. Nearly twice 
that space had glided away over the head of Halbert Glendin- 
ning 1 and his lady, betwixt the period of our former narrative , 2 
in which they played a distinguished part, and the date 3 at which 
our present tale commences. 

Two circumstances only had imbittered their union, which was 
otherwise as happy as mutual affection could render it. The first 
of these was indeed the common calamity of Scotland, being the 
distracted state of that unhappy country, where every man’s sword 
was directed against his neighbor’s bosom. Glendinning had 
proved what Murray 4 expected of him, — a steady friend, strong 

1 Lord by marriage of the imaginary Barony of Avenel, placed, in the 
story, near Kennaquhair (Melrose) Abbey, in Roxburghshire on the eastern 
Scottish Border. 

2 The Monastery (for history and for characters see Introduction). 

^3 Probably 1561. 

4 Earl of Murray (Lord James Stuart), the illegitimate son of James V., 
half-brother of Queen Mary, and at this time head of the Protestant or ruling 
party in Scotland. He was assassinated in 1572. 


11 


12 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


in battle, and wise in counsel, adhering to him, from motives of 
gratitude, in situations where by his own unbiased will he would 
either have stood neuter, or have joined the opposite party. 
Hence, when danger was near, — and it was seldom far distant, 
— Sir Halbert Glendinning, for he now bore the rank of knight- 
hood, was perpetually summoned to attend his patron on distant 
expeditions, or on perilous enterprises, or to assist him with his 
counsel in the doubtful intrigues of a half-barbarous court. He 
was thus frequently, and for a long space, absent from his castle 
and from his lady ; and to this ground of regret we must add 
that their union had not been blessed with children, to occupy 
the attention of the Lady of Avenel while she was thus deprived 
of her husband’s domestic society. 

On such occasions she lived almost entirely secluded from the 
world, within the walls of her paternal mansion. Visiting amongst 
neighbors was a matter entirely out of the question, unless on 
occasions of solemn festival, and then it was chiefly confined to 
near kindred. Of these the Lady of Avenel had none who sur- 
vived, and the dames of the neighboring barons affected to 
regard her less as the heiress of the House of Avenel than as the 
wife of a peasant, the son of a church vassal , 1 raised up to mush- 
room eminence by the capricious favor of Murray. 

The pride of ancestry, which rankled in the bosom of the an- 
cient gentry, was more openly expressed by their ladies, and was, 
moreover, imbittered not a little by the political feuds 2 of the 
time, for most of the Southron chiefs were friends to the author- 
ity of the Queen, and very jealous of the power of Murray. The 
Castle of Avenel was, therefore, on all these accounts, as melan- 
choly and solitary a residence for its Lady as could well be im- 

1 A vassal, in the feudal system, was one who held lands of a superior, on 
condition of rendering military service. The parents of Halbert Glendinning 
had so held the farm of Glendearg from the Abbey of Kennaquhair. 

2 The meaning of technical and uncommon words not to be found in a 
school dictionary, and of colloquialisms not giveu^a footnotes, may be found 
in the Glossary at the end of this volume. 


THE ABBOT. 


13 


agined. Still it had the essential recommendation of great security. 
The fortress was built upon an islet on a small lake, and was only 
accessible by a causeway, intersected by a double ditch defended 
by two drawbridges, so that, without artillery, it might in those 
days be considered as impregnable. It was only necessary, there- 
fore, to secure against surprise, and the service of six able men 
within the castle was sufficient for that purpose. If more serious 
danger threatened, an ample garrison was supplied by the male in- 
habitants of a little hamlet which, under the auspices of Halbert 
Glendinning, had arisen on a small piece of level ground, betwixt 
the lake and the hill, nearly adjoining to the spot where the cause- 
way joined the mainland. The Lord of Avenel had found it an 
easy matter to procure inhabitants, as he was not only a kind and 
beneficent overlord, but well qualified, both by his experience in 
arms, his high character for wisdom and integrity, and his favor 
with the powerful Earl of Murray, to protect and defend those who 
dwelt under his banner. In leaving his castle for any length of 
time, he had, therefore, the consolation to reflect that this vil- 
lage afforded, on the slightest notice, a band of thirty stout men, 
which was more than sufficient for its defense ; while the families 
of the villagers, as was usual on such occasions, fled to the re- 
cesses of the mountains, drove their cattle to the same places of 
shelter, and left the enemy to work their will on their miserable 
cottages. 

One guest only resided generally, if not constantly, at the Cas- 
tle of Avenel. This was Henry Warden , 1 who now felt himself 
less able for the stormy task imposed on the reforming clergy, 
and having by his zeal given personal offense to many of the 
leading nobles and chiefs, did not consider himself as perfectly 
safe, unless when within the walls of the strong mansion of some 
assured friend. He ceased not, however, to serve his cause as 
eagerly with his pen as he had formerly done with his tongue, 
and had engaged in a furious and acrimonious contest concem- 

1 Calvinistic preacher (see Introduction). 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


14 

ing the sacrifice of the mass , 1 as it was termed, with the Abbot 
Eustatius, formerly the Subprior of Kennaquhair. Answers, re- 
plies, duplies, triplies, quadruples , 2 followed thick upon each 
other, and displayed, as is not unusual in controversy, fully as 
much zeal as Christian charity. The disputation very soon 
became as celebrated as that of John Knox 3 and the Abbot of 
Crosraguel, raged nearly as fiercely, and, for aught I know, the 
publications to which it gave rise may be as precious in the eyes 
of bibliographers . 4 But the engrossing nature of his occupation 
rendered the theologian not the most interesting companion for a 
solitary female ; and his grave, stern, and absorbed deportment, 
which seldom showed any interest except in that which concerned 
•his religious profession, made his presence rather add to than 
diminish the gloom which hung over the Castle of Avenel. To 
superintend the tasks of numerous female domestics was the r 
principal part of the Lady’s daily employment ; her spindle and 
distaff , 5 her Bible, and a solitary walk upon the battlements of 
the castle or upon the causeway, or occasionally, but more sel- 

1 “ Sacrifice of the mass,” i.e., doctrine of transubstantiation, or Catholic 
belief that the bread and wine offered in the mass, or celebration of the 
Lord’s Supper, becomes changed into the actual body and blood of Christ. 

2 “ Duplies,” etc., i.e., in Scottish law, second, third, and fourth replies. 

3 The Scottish reformer and historian, born in 1505, in Haddington. He 
took minor orders, but in 1 544 rejected the career of a priest, and became a 
Protestant preacher. After several troubled years, spent chiefly in England 
and abroad, he returned to Scotland to join the Protestant rising of 1560. 
After the return of Queen Mary, mass was celebrated in Holyrood, and Knox 
at once preached against her. Later, he had many stormy interviews with 
her, and denounced her repeatedly from his pulpit in St. Giles’s Church. 
In 1567 he preached at the coronation of James, and indirectly counseled 
Mary’s death. He died in 1572, soon after Murray’s death. His chief 
work is his History of the Reformation in Scotland (see M'Crie’s Life of 
Knox, or R. L. Stevenson’s Essay on Knox). 

4 The tracts which appeared in the disputation between the Scottish Re- 
former and Quentin Kennedy, Abbot of Crosraguel, are among the scarcest 
in Scottish bibliography. 

5 In spinning, the thread is drawn by hand off the distaff, and twisted and 
wound upon the spindle. 


THE ABBOT. 


*5 


dom, upon the banks of the little lake, consumed the rest of the 
day. But so great was the insecurity of the period, that when 
she ventured to extend her walk beyond the hamlet, the warder 
on the watchtower was directed to keep a sharp lookout in every 
direction, and four or five men held themselves in readiness to 
mount and sally forth from the castle on the slightest appearance 
of alarm. 

Thus stood affairs at the castle, when, after an absence of 
several weeks, the Knight of Avenel, which was now the title 
most frequently given to Sir Halbert Glendinning, was daily ex- 
pected to return home. Day after day, however, passed away, 
and he returned not. Letters in those days were rarely written, 
and the Knight must have resorted to a secretary 1 to express 
his intentions in that manner; besides, intercourse of all kinds 
was precarious and unsafe, and no man cared to give any public 
intimation of the time and direction of a journey, since, if his 
route were publicly known, it was always likely he might in that 
case meet with more enemies than friends upon the road. The 
precise day, therefore, of Sir Halbert’s return was not fixed, but 
that which his lady’s fond expectation had calculated upon in 
her own mind had long since passed, and hope delayed began 
to make the heart sick. 

It was upon the evening of a sultry summer’s day, when the 
sun was half sunk behind the distant western mountains of Lid- 
desdale , 2 that the Lady took her solitary walk on the battlements 
of a range of buildings which formed the front of the castle, 
where a flat roof of flagstones presented a broad and convenient 
promenade. The level surface of the lake, undisturbed except 
by the occasional dipping of a teal duck, or coot, was gilded 
with the beams of the setting luminary, and reflected, as if in a 
golden mirror, the hills amongst which it lay embosomed. The 
scene, otherwise so lonely, was occasionally enlivened by the 
voices of the children of the village, which, softened by distance, 

1 Reading and writing were even then rare accomplishments. 

2 An inland district of Roxburghshire, on the English border. 


i6 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


reached the ear of the Lady, in her solitary walk, or by the dis- 
tant call of the herdsman, as he guided his cattle from the glen 
in which they had pastured all day, to place them in greater 
security for the night, in the immediate vicinity of the village. 
The deep lowing of the cows seemed to demand the attendance 
of the milkmaidens, who, singing shrilly and merrily, strolled ' 
forth, each with her pail on her head, to attend to the duty of 
the evening. The Lady of Avenel looked and listened ; the 
sounds which she heard reminded her of former days, when her 
most important employment, as well as her greatest delight, was 
to assist Dame Glendinning and Tibb Tacket in milking the cows ' 
at Glendearg . 1 The thought was fraught with melancholy. 

“Why was I not,” she said, “the peasant girl which in all 
men’s eyes I seemed to be? Halbert and I had then spent our 
life peacefully in his native glen, undisturbed by the phantoms f 
either of fear or of ambition. His greatest pride had then been 
to show the fairest herd in the Halidome ; 2 his greatest danger, 
to repel some pilfering snatcher from the Border ; 3 and the 
utmost distance which would have divided us would have been 
the chase of some outlying deer. But, alas ! what avails the blood 
which Halbert has shed, and the dangers which he encounters, 
to support a name and rank, dear to him because he has it from 
me, but which we shall never transmit to our posterity ! With me 
the name of Avenel must expire.” 

She sighed as these reflections arose, and, looking towards the 
shore of the lake, her eye was attracted by a group of children 
of various ages, assembled to see a little ship, constructed by 
some village artist, perform its first voyage on the water. It was 
launched amid the shouts of tiny voices and the clapping of little 

1 See Introduction. 

2 Here, lands held of a religious foundation ; in this case, of the Abbey 
of Kennaquhair. 

3 The English side of the Border. The districts on either side of the 
boundary between the nations — Northumberland and Cumberland in Eng- 
land, Roxburghshire and Dumfriesshire in Scotland — were subject to con- 
tinual petty incursions from across the Border. 


7 'HE ABBOT. 


17 


hands, and shot bravely forth on its voyage, with a favoring wind 
which promised to carry it to the other side of the lake. Some 
of the bigger boys ran round to receive and secure it on the 
. farther shore, trying their speed against each other as they sprang 
like young fawns along the shingly verge of the lake. The rest, 
for whom such a journey seemed too arduous, remained watch- 
ing the motions of the fairy vessel from the spot where it had 
been launched. The sight of their sports pressed on the mind 
of the childless Lady of Avenel. 

“ Why are none of these prattlers mine? ” she continued, pur- 
suing the tenor of her melancholy reflections. “ Their parents 
can scarce find them the coarsest food ; and I, who could nurse 
them in plenty, — I am doomed never to hear a child call me 
mother! ” 

The thought sunk on her heart with a bitterness which resem- 
bled envy, so deeply is the desire of offspring implanted in the 
female breast. She pressed her hands together as if she were 
wringing them in the extremity of her desolate feeling, as one 
whom Heaven had written childless. A large staghound of the 
greyhound species approached at this moment, and, attracted 
perhaps by the gesture, licked her hands and pressed his large 
head against them. He obtained the desired caress in return, 
but still the sad impression remained. 

“ Wolf,” she said, as if the animal could have understood her 
complaints, “thou art a noble and beautiful animal; but, alas! 
the love and affection that I long to bestow is of a quality higher 
than can fall to thy share, though I love thee much.” 

And, as if she were apologizing to Wolf for withholding from 
him any part of her regard, she caressed his proud head and 
crest, while, looking in her eyes, he seemed to ask her what she 
wanted, or what he could do to show his attachment. At this 
moment a shriek of distress was heard on the shore, from the 
playful group which had been lately so jovial. The Lady looked, 
and saw the cause with great agony. 

The little ship, the object of the children’s delighted attention, 


2 


i8 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


had stuck among some tufts of the plant which bears the water 
lily, that marked a shoal in the lake about an arrow-flight from 
the shore. A hardy little boy, who had taken the lead in the 
race round the margin of the lake, did not hesitate a moment to 
strip off his wylie-coat, 1 plunge into the water, and swim towards 
the object of their common solicitude. The first movement of 
the Lady was to call for help ; but she observed that the boy 
swam strongly and fearlessly, and as she saw that one or two 
villagers, who were distant spectators of the incident, seemed to 
give themselves no uneasiness on his account, she supposed that 
he was accustomed to the exercise, and that there was no danger. 
But whether, in swimming, the boy had struck his breast against 
a sunken rock, or whether he was suddenly taken with cramp, or 
whether he had overcalculated his own strength, it so happened, 
that when he had disembarrassed the little plaything from the 
flags in which it was entangled, and sent it forward on its course, 
he had scarce swam a few yards in his way to the shore, than 
he raised himself suddenly from the water, and screamed aloud, 
clapping his hands at the same time with an expression of fear 
and pain. 

The Lady of Avenel, instantly taking the alarm, called hastily 
to the attendants to get the boat ready. But this was an affair 
of some time. The only boat permitted to be used on the lake 
was moored within the second cut which intersected the canal, 
and it was several minutes ere it could be unmoored and got 
under way. Meantime, the Lady of Avenel, w'ith agonizing 
anxiety, saw that the efforts that the poor boy made to keep 
himself afloat were now exchanged for a faint struggling, which 
would soon have been over but for aid equally prompt and un- 
hoped for. Wolf, who, like some of that large species of grey- 
hound, was a practiced water dog, had marked the object of her 
anxiety, and, quitting his mistress’s side, had sought the nearest 
point from which he could with safety plunge into the lake. With 
the wonderful instinct which these noble animals have so often 


1 An undercoat. 


THE ABBOT. 


x 9 


displayed in the like circumstances, he swam straight to the spot 
where his assistance was so much wanted, and, seizing the child’s 
underdress in his mouth, he not only kept him afloat, but towed 
him towards the causeway. The boat, having put off with a 
couple of men, met the dog halfway, and relieved him of his 
burden. They landed on the causeway, close by the gates of 
the castle, with their yet lifeless charge, and were there met by 
the Lady of Avenel, attended by one or two of her maidens, 
eagerly waiting to administer assistance to the sufferer. 

He was borne into the castle, deposited upon a bed, and every 
mode of recovery resorted to, which the knowledge of the times, 
and the skill of Henry Warden, who professed some medical 
science, could dictate. For some time it was all in vain, and the 
Lady watched, with unspeakable earnestness, the pallid counte- 
nance of the beautiful child. He seemed about ten years old. 
His dress was of the meanest sort, but his long curled hair, and 
the noble cast of his features, partook not of that poverty of 
appearance. The proudest noble in Scotland might have been 
yet prouder could he have called that child his heir. While, 
with breathless anxiety, the Lady of Avenel gazed on his well- 
formed and expressive features, a slight shade of color returned 
gradually to the cheek ; suspended animation became restored 
by degrees, the child sighed deeply, opened his eyes, — which to 
the human countenance produces the effect of light upon the 
natural landscape, — stretched his arms towards the Lady, and 
muttered the word “ Mother,” that epithet, of all others, which 
is dearest to the female ear. 

“God, madam,” said the preacher, “has restored the child to 
your wishes ; it must be yours so to bring him up, that he may 
not one day wish that he had perished in his innocence.” 

“It shall be my charge,” said the Lady ; and again throwing 
her arms around the boy, she overwhelmed him with kisses and 
caresses, so much was she agitated by the terror arising from the 
danger in which he had been just placed, and by joy at his un- 
expected deliverance. 


20 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ But you are not my mother,” said the boy, recovering his 
recollection, and endeavoring, though faintly, to escape from 
the caresses of the Lady of Avenel ; “ you are not my mother, 
— alas! I have no mother — only I have dreamt that I had one.” 

“ I will read the dream for you, my love,” answered the Lady 
of Avenel ; “ and I will be myself your mother. Surely God has 
heard my wishes, and, in his own marvelous manner, hath sent 
me an object on which my affections may expand themselves.” 
She looked towards Warden as she spoke. The preacher hesi- 
tated what he should reply to a burst of passionate feeling, 
which, perhaps, seemed to him more enthusiastic than the occa- 
sion demanded. In the mean while, the large staghound, Wolf, 
who, dripping wet as he was, had followed his mistress into the 
apartment, and had sat by the bedside, a patient and quiet spec- 
tator of all the means used for resuscitation of the being whom 
he had preserved, now became impatient of remaining any longer 
unnoticed, and began to whine and fawn upon the Lady with 
his great rough paws. 

“Yes,” she said, “good Wolf, and you shall be remembered 
also for your day’s work ; and I will think the more of you for 
having preserved the life of a creature so beautiful.” 

But Wolf was not quite satisfied with the share of attention 
which he thus attracted ; he persisted in whining and pawing 
upon his mistress, his caresses rendered still more troublesome by 
his long shaggy hair being so much and thoroughly wetted, till 
she desired one of the domestics, with whom he was familiar, to 
call the animal out od the apartment. Wolf resisted every invi- 
tation to this purpose, until his mistress positively commanded 
him to be gone, in an angry tone ; when, turning towards the 
bed on which the boy still lay, half awake to sensation, half 
drowned in the meanders of fluctuating delirium, he uttered a 
deep and savage growl, curled up his nose and lips, showing his 
full range of white and sharpened teeth, which might have 
matched those of an actual wolf, and then, turning round, sul- 
lenly followed the domestic out of the apartment. 


THE ABBOT. 


21 


“ It is singular,” said the Lady, addressing Warden ; “ the ani- 
mal is not only so good-natured to all, but so particularly fond 
of children. What can ail him at 1 the little fellow whose life he 
has saved?” 

“ Dogs,” replied the preacher, “ are but too like the human 
race in their foibles , 2 though their instinct be less erring than the 
reason of poor mortal man when relying upon his own unassisted 
powers. Jealousy, my good lady, is a passion not unknown to 
them, and they often evince it, not. only with respect to the 
preferences which they see given by their masters to individuals 
of their own species, but even when their rivals are children. 
You have caressed that child much and eagerly, and the dog 
considers himself as a discarded favorite.” 

“ It is a strange instinct,” said the Lady ; “ and from the 
gravity with which you mention it, my reverend friend, I would 
almost say that you supposed this singular jealousy of my favorite 
Wolf was not only well founded, but justifiable. But perhaps 
you speak in jest? ” 

“I seldom jest,” answered the preacher; “ life was not lent 
to us to be expended in that idle mirth which resembles the 
crackling of thorns under the pot . 3 I would only have you 
derive, if it so please you, this lesson from what I have said, 
that the best of our feelings, when indulged to excess, may give 
pain to others. There is but one in which we may indulge to 
the utmost limit of vehemence of which our bosom is capable, 
secure that excess cannot exist in the greatest intensity to which 
it can be excited : I mean the love of our Maker.” 

“ Surely,” said the Lady of Avenel, “ we are commanded by 
the same authority to love our neighbor? ” 

“ Ay, madam,” said Warden, “ but our love to God is to be 
unbounded ; we are to love him with our whole heart, our whole 
soul, and our whole strength. The love which the precept com- 

1 “ What can,” etc., i.e., what can anger him against? 

2 French, faible (“weak”); hence, capricious weaknesses. 

3 See Eccles. vi. 6. 


22 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


mands us to bear to our neighbor has affixed to it a direct limit 
and qualification, — we are to love our neighbor as ourself ; as it 
is elsewhere explained by the great commandment, that we must 
do unto him as we would that he should do unto us. Here 
there is a limit and a bound even to the most praiseworthy of 
our affections, so far as they are turned upon sublunary and ter- 
restrial objects. We are to render to our neighbor, whatever be 
his rank or degree, that corresponding portion of affection with 
which we could rationally expect we should ourselves be regarded 
by those standing in the same relation to us. Hence, neither 
husband nor wife, neither son nor daughter, neither friend nor 
relation, are lawfully to be made the objects of our idolatry. 
The Lord our God is a jealous. God, and will not endure that we 
bestow on the creature that extremity of devotion which He who 
made us demands as his own share. I say to you, Lady, that 
even in the fairest, and purest, and most honorable feelings of 
our nature, there is that original taint of sin which ought to 
make us pause and hesitate, ere we indulge them to excess.” 

“ I understand not this, reverend sir,” said the Lady ; “ nor 
do I guess what I can have now said or done, to draw down on 
me an admonition which has something a taste of reproof.” 

“ Lady,” said Warden, “ I crave your pardon, if I have urged 
aught beyond the limits of my duty. But consider whether in 
the sacred promise to be not only a protectress, but a mother, to 
this poor child, your purpose may meet the wishes of the noble 
Knight your husband. The fondness which you have lavished 
on the unfortunate, and, I own, most lovely child, has met some- 
thing like a reproof in the bearing of your household dog. Dis- 
please not your noble husband. Men, as well as animals, are 
jealous of the affections of those they love.” 

“ This is too much, reverend sir,” said the Lady of Avenel, 
greatly offended. “You have been long our guest, and have 
received from the Knight of Avenel and myself that honor and 
regard which your character and profession so justly demand. 
But I am yet to learn that we have at any time authorized your 


THE ABBOT. 


2 3 


interference in our family arrangements, or placed you as a judge 
of our conduct towards each other. I pray this may be forborne 
in future.” 

“ Lady,” replied the preacher, with the boldness peculiar to 
the clergy of his persuasion at that time, “ when you weary of 
my admonitions, when I see that my services are no longer 
acceptable to you and the noble Knight your husband, I shall 
know that my Master wills me no longer to abide here ; and, 
praying for a continuance of his best blessings on your family, I 
will then, were the season the depth of winter, and the hour mid- 
night, walk out on yonder waste, and travel forth through these 
wild mountains, as lonely and unaided, though far more helpless, 
as when I first met your husband in the valley of Glendearg. 
But while I remain here, I will not see you err from the true 
path, no, not a hair’s breadth, without making the old man’s 
voice and remonstrance heard.” 

“ Nay, but,” said the Lady, who both loved and respected the 
good man, though sometimes a little offended at what she con- 
ceived to be an exuberant degree of zeal, “ we will not part this 
way, my good friend. Women are quick and hasty in their feel- 
ings ; but, believe me, my wishes and my purposes towards this 
child are such as both my husband and you will approve of.” 
The clergyman bowed, and retreated to his own apartment. 


CHAPTER II. 


HEN Warden had left the apartment, the Lady of Avenei 



vv gave way to the feelings of tenderness which the sight of 
the boy, his sudden danger, and his recent escape had inspired ; 
and, no longer awed by the sternness, as she deemed it, of the 
preacher, heaped with caresses the lovely and interesting child. 
He was now, in some measure, recovered from the consequences 
of his accident, and received passively, though not without won- 


24 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


der, the tokens of kindness with which he was thus loaded. The 
face of the Lady was strange to him, and her dress different and 
far more sumptuous than any he remembered. But the boy was 
naturally of an undaunted temper ; and indeed children are gen- 
erally acute physiognomists, and not only pleased by that which 
is beautiful in itself, but peculiarly quick in distinguishing and 
replying to the attentions of those who really love them. If they 
see a person in company, though a perfect stranger, who is by 
nature fond of children, the little imps seem to discover it by a 
sort of freemasonry , 1 while the awkward attempts of those who 
make advances to them for the purpose of recommending them- 
selves to the parents, usually fail in attracting their reciprocal 
attention. The little boy, therefore, appeared in some degree 
sensible of the Lady’s caresses, and it was with difficulty she with- 
drew herself from his pillow, to afford him leisure for necessary 
repose. 

“To whom belongs our little rescued varlet ?” 2 was the first 
question which the Lady of Avenel put to her handmaiden Lilias, 
when they had retired to the hall. 

“To an old woman in the hamlet,” said Lilias, “who is even 
now come so far as the porter’s lodge to inquire concerning his 
safety. Is it your pleasure that she be admitted ? ” 

“Is it my pleasure?” said the Lady of Avenel, echoing the 
question with a strong accent of displeasure and surprise. “ Can 
you make any doubt of it? What woman but must pity the 
agony of the mother, whose heart is throbbing for the safety of 
a child so lovely ! ” 

“ Nay, but, madam,” said Lilias, “this woman is too old to be 


1 A tacit understanding like that between Freemasons. Secret organiza- 
tions of working masons were formed for mutual assistance in the middle 
ages, when skilled workmen traveled about to build cathedrals and abbeys, 
and needed signs by which to be recognized as masters of their craft. The 
modern organization of Freemasons dates from 1717. 

2 Valet. Originally a young man serving apprenticeship in knightly exer- 
cises ; later, a body servant, or a common fellow. 


THE ABBOT. 


2 5 


the mother of the child ; I rather think she must be his grand- 
mother, or some more distant relation.” 

“ Be she who she will, Lilias,” replied the Lady, “ she must have 
an aching heart while the safety of a creature so lovely is uncer- 
tain. Go instantly and bring her hither. Besides, I would will- 
ingly learn something concerning his birth.” 

Lilias left the hall, and presently afterwards returned, ushering 
in a tall female, very poorly dressed, yet with more pretension to 
decency and cleanliness than was usually combined with such 
coarse garments. The Lady of Avenel knew her figure the in- 
stant she presented herself. It was the fashion of the family, 
that upon every Sabbath, and on two evenings in the week be- 
sides, Henry Warden preached or lectured in the chapel at the 
castle. The extension of the Protestant faith was, upon princi- 
ple, as well as in good policy, a primary object with the Knight 
of Avenel. The inhabitants of the village were therefore invited 
to attend upon the instructions of Henry Warden, and many of 
them were speedily won to the doctrine which their master and 
protector approved. These sermons, homilies, and lectures had 
made a great impression on the mind of the Abbot Eustace, or 
Eustatius, and were a sufficient spur to the severity and sharpness 
of his controversy with his old fellow-collegiate, and, ere Queen 
Mary was dethroned , 1 and while the Catholics still had consider- 
able authority in the Border provinces, he more than once threat- 
ened to levy his vassals, and assail and level with the earth that 
stronghold of heresy, the Castle of Avenel. But notwithstanding 
the Abbot’s impotent resentment, and notwithstanding also the 
disinclination of the country to favor the new religion, Henry 
Warden proceeded without remission in his labors, and made 
weekly converts from the faith of Rome to that of the reformed 
church. Amongst those who gave most earnest and constant 
attendance on his ministry was the aged woman, whose form, 
tall, and otherwise too remarkable to be forgotten, the Lady had 
of late observed frequently as being conspicuous amongst the 
1 Dethroned in 1567, and imprisoned in Lochleven Castle. 


26 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


little audience. She had, indeed, more than once desired to know 
who that stately-looking woman was, whose appearance was so 
much above the poverty of her vestments ; but the reply had 
always been that she was an Englishwoman, who was tarrying 
for a season at the hamlet, and that no one knew more concern- 
ing her. She now asked her after her name and birth. 

“ Magdalen Graeme is my name,” said the woman. “ I come 
of the Graemes of Heath ergill, in Nicol Forest , 1 a people of an- 
cient blood.” 

“ And what make you,” continued the Lady, “ so far distant 
from your home? ” 

“ I have no home,” said Magdalen Graeme ; “ it was burnt by 
your Border-riders. My husband and my°son were slain; there 
is not a drop’s blood left in the veins of any one which is of kin 
to mine.” 

“ That is no uncommon fate in these wild times, and in this 
unsettled land,” said the Lady. “ The English hands have been 
as deeply dyed in our blood as ever those of Scotsmen have been 
in yours.” 

“You have right to say it, Lady,” answered Magdalen Graeme ; 
“ for men tell of a time when this castle was not strong enough 
to save your father’s life, or to afford your mother and her infant 
a place of refuge. And why ask ye me, then, wherefore I dwell 
not in mine own home, and with mine own people ? ” 

“ It was indeed an idle question,” answered the Lady, “ where 
misery so often makes wanderers. But wherefore take refuge in 
a hostile country ? ” 

“My neighbors were Popish and mass-mongers ,” 2 said the 
old woman. “ It has pleased Heaven to give me a clearer sight 
of the Gospel, and I have tarried here to enjoy the ministry of 
that worthy man Henry Warden, who, to the praise and comfort 
of many, teac.heth the Evangel 3 in truth and in sincerity.” 

1 A district of Cumberland, lying close to the Scottish Border. 

2 An opprobrious term for one who believes in the sacrifice of the mass. 

3 In Greek, good tidings ; the Gospel. 


THE ABBOT. 


2 7 


“ Are you poor? ” again demanded the Lady of Avenel. 

“ You hear me ask alms of no one,” answered the English- 
woman. 

Here there was a pause. The manner of the woman was, if 
not disrespectful, at least much less than gracious ; and she 
appeared to give no encouragement to further communication. 
The Lady of Avenel renewed the conversation on a different 
topic. 

“You have heard of the danger in which your boy has been 
placed? ” 

“ I have, Lady, and how by an especial providence he was 
rescued from death. May Heaven make him thankful, and 
me!” 

“ What relation do you bear to him ? ” 

“ I am his grandmother, Lady, if it so please you, — the only 
relation he hath left upon earth to take charge of him.” 

“ The burden of his maintenance must necessarily be grievous 
to you in your deserted situation ? ” pursued the Lady. 

“ I have complained of it to no one,” said Magdalen Graeme, 
with the same unmoved, dry, and unconcerned tone of voice in 
which she had answered all the former questions. 

“ If,” said the Lady of Avenel, “ your grandchild could be 
received into a noble family, would it not advantage both him 
and you? ” 

“ Received into a noble family ! ” said the old woman, drawing 
herself up, and bending her brows until her forehead was wrin- 
kled into a frown of unusual severity. “ And for what purpose, I 
pray you ? To be my Lady’s page, or my Lord’s jackman , 1 to eat 
broken victuals, and contend with other menials for the remnants 
of the master’s meal? Would you have him to fan the flies from 
my Lady’s face while she sleeps, to carry her train while she 
walks, to hand her trencher 2 when she feeds, to ride before her 

' 1 A nobleman’s retainer, so called from the jack, or doublet quilted with 
iron, worn as protection. 

2 A wooden dish or platter used at table. 


28 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


on horseback, to walk after her on foot, to sing when she lists, 
and to be silent when she bids? — a very weathercock, which, 
though furnished in appearance with wings and plumage, cannot 
soar into the air, cannot fly from the spot where it is perched, 
but receives all its impulse, and performs all its revolutions, obe- 
dient to the changeful breath of a vain woman? When the eagle 
of Helvellyn 1 perches on the tower of Lanercost , 2 and turns and 
changes his place to show how the wind sits, Roland Graeme 
shall be what you would make him,” 

The woman spoke with a rapidity and vehemence which 
seemed to have in it a touch of insanity ; and a sudden sense of 
the danger to which the child must necessarily be exposed in the 
charge of such a keeper, increased the Lady’s desire to keep him 
in the castle if possible. 

“You mistake me, dame,” she said, addressing the old woman 
in a soothing manner ; “ I do not wish your boy to be in attend- 
ance on myself, but upon the good Knight my husband. Were 
he himself the son of a belted earl, he could not better be trained 
to arms, and all that befits a gentleman, than by the instructions 
and discipline of Sir Halbert Glendinning.” 

“ Ay,” answered the old woman, in the same style of bitter 
irony, “ I know the wages of that service ; — a curse when the 
corselet is not sufficiently brightened, — a blow when the girth is 
not tightly drawn, — to be beaten because the hounds are at 
fault, — to be reviled because the foray is unsuccessful, — to 
stain his hands for the master’s bidding in the blood alike of 
beast and of man, — to be a butcher of harmless deer, a murderer 
and defacer of God’s own image , 3 not at his own pleasure, but 
at that of his lord, — to live a brawling ruffian, and a common 
stabber, exposed to heat, to cold, to want of food, to all the 
privations of an anchoret, not for the love of God, but for the 

1 A mountain on the southern border of Cumberland. It is one of the 
highest in England. 

2 An abbey on the northern border of Cumberland, near Scotland. 

3 The human form (see Gen. i. 27). 


THE ABBOT 


2 9 


service of Satan, — to die by the gibbet, or in some obscure skir- 
mish, — to sleep out his brief life in carnal security, and to awake 
in the eternal fire which is never quenched.” 

“Nay,” said the Lady of Avenel, “but to such unhallowed 
course of life your grandson will not be here exposed. My hus- 
band is just and kind to those who live under his banner; and 
you yourself well know that youth have here a strict, as well as 
a good, preceptor in the person of our chaplain.” 

The old woman appeared to pause. 

“You have named,” she said, “the only circumstance which 
can move me. I must soon onward, — the vision has said it. I 
must not tarry in the same spotj — I must on, — I must on, it is 
my weird . 1 — Swear, then, that you will protect the boy as if he 
were your own, until I return hither and claim him, and I will 
consent for a space to part with him. But especially swear he 
shall not lack the instruction of the godly man who hath placed 
the Gospel truth high above those idolatrous shavelings, the 
monks and friars.” 2 * 

“ Be satisfied, dame,” said the Lady of Avenel ; “ the boy shall 
have as much care as if he were born of my own blood. Will 
you see him now? ” 

“No,” answered the old woman sternly; “to part is enough. 
I go forth on my own mission. I will not soften my heart by 
useless tears and wailings, as one that is not called to a duty.” 

“ Will you not accept of something to aid you in your pilgrim- 
age? ” said the Lady of Avenel, putting into her hands two crowns 
of the sun . 3 The old woman flung them down on the table. 

“ Am I of the race of Cain,” she said, “ proud Lady, that you 
offer me gold in exchange for my own flesh and blood? ” 

1 Destiny; so called from that one of the three Norns, or Fates, of Scan- 
dinavian mythology, who was believed to rule the future. 

2 Latin, frater , members of the begging and wandering religious orders, 
as distinguished from monks who dwelt in monasteries and drew from their 
revenues. One of the ceremonies at entrance to either order was the tonsure, 
or the shaving of the hair from a circular space at the back of the head. 

3 A gold coin, mint-marked with a crown ; worth 4-r. 6 d. 


30 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ I had no such meaning,” said the Lady gently ; “ nor am 1 
the proud woman you term me. Alas! my own fortunes might 
have taught me humility, even had it not been born with me.” 

The old woman seemed somewhat to relax her tone of severity. 

“You are of gentle blood,” she said, “else we had not par- 
leyed thus long together. You are of gentle blood, and to such,” 
she added, drawing up her tall form as she spoke, “ pride is as 
graceful as is the plume upon the bonnet. 1 But for these pieces 
of gold, Lady, you must needs resume them. I need not money. 
I am well provided ; and I may not care for myself, nor think 
how, or by whom, I shall be sustained. Farewell, and keep your 
word. Cause your gates to be opened, and your bridges to be 
lowered. I will set forward this very night. When I come 
again, I will demand from you a strict account, for I have left 
with you the jewel of my life! Sleep will visit me but in snatches, 
food will not refresh me, rest will not restore my strength, until I 
see Roland Graeme. Once more, farewell.” 

“ Make your obeisance, dame,” said Lilias to Magdalen 
Graeme, as she retired, “make your obeisance to her Ladyship, 
and thank her for her goodness, as is but fitting and right.” 

The old woman turned short around on the officious waiting 
maid. “ Let her make her obeisance to me, then, and I will 
return it. Why should I bend to her? Is it because her kirtle 2 
is of silk, and mine of blue lockeram? 3 Go to, my Lady’s waiting 
woman. Know that the rank of the man rates that of the wife, 
and that she who marries a churl’s 4 son, were she a king’s daugh- 
ter, is but a peasant’s bride.” 

Lilias was about to reply in great indignation, but her mistress 
imposed silence on her, and commanded that the old woman 
should be safely conducted to the mainland. 

“ Conduct her safe ! ” exclaimed the incensed waiting woman, 
while Magdalen Graeme left the apartment. “ I say, duck her in 

1 In Scotland, a man’s cap. 2 Dress. 3 A kind of unbleached linen. 

4 In Early English, a rustic laborer, one of the lowest class of freemen ; 
hence, a coarse or rude person. 


THE ABBOT. 


3 1 


the loch , 1 and then we will see whether she is witch or not , 2 as 
everybody in the village of Lochside will say and swear. I mar- 
vel your Ladyship could bear so long with her insolence.” But 
the commands of the Lady were obeyed, and the old dame, dis- 
missed from the castle, was committed to her fortune. She kept 
her word, and did not long abide in that place, leaving the ham- 
let on the very night succeeding the interview, and wandering no 
one asked whither. The Lady of Avenel inquired under what 
circumstances she had appeared among them, but could only 
learn that she was believed to be the widow of some man of 
consequence among the Graemes who then inhabited the De- 
batable Land , 3 a name given to a certain portion of territory 
which was the frequent subject of dispute betwixt Scotland and 
England ; that she had suffered great wrong in some of the fre- 
quent forays by which that unfortunate district was wasted, and 
had been driven from her dwelling place. She had arrived in 
the hamlet no one knew for what purpose, and was held by some 
to be a witch, by others a zealous Protestant, and by others 
again a Catholic devotee. Her language was mysterious, and her 
manners repulsive; and all that could be collected from her 
conversation seemed to imply that she was under the influence 
either of a spell or of a vow, there was no saying which, since 
she talked as one who acted under a powerful and external 
agency. 

Such were the particulars which the Lady’s inquiries were able 
to collect concerning Magdalen Graeme, being far too meager 
and contradictory to authorize any satisfactory deduction. In 
truth, the miseries of the time, and the various turns of fate inci- 
dental to a frontier country, were perpetually chasing from their 
habitations those who had not the means of defense or protection. 
These wanderers in the land were too often seen to excite much 
attention or sympathy. They received the cold relief which was 

1 The Scotch term for lake. Lochside is equivalent to lakeside. 

2 A witch could not be drowned, according to popular superstition. 

3 Situated between the rivers Esk and Sark, at the head of Solway Frith. 


3 2 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


extorted by general feelings of humanity ; a little excited in some 
breasts, and perhaps rather chilled in others, by the recollection 
that they who gave the charity to-day might themselves want it 
to-morrow. Magdalen Graeme, therefore, came and departed 
like a shadow from the neighborhood of Avenel Castle. 

The boy whom Providence, as she thought, had thus strangely 
placed under her care, was at once established a favorite with 
the Lady of the castle. How could it be otherwise? He be- 
came the object of those affectionate feelings which, finding 
formerly no object on which to expand themselves, had increased 
the gloom of the castle, and imbittered the solitude of its mis- 
tress. To teach him reading and writing as far as her skill went, 
to attend to his childish comforts, to watch his boyish sports, 
became the Lady’s favorite amusement. In her circumstances, 
where the ear only heard the lowing of the cattle from the dis- 
tant hills, or the heavy step of the warder as he walked upon his 
post, or the half-envied laugh of her maiden as she turned her 
wheel, the appearance of the blooming and beautiful boy gave 
an interest which can hardly be conceived by those who live 
amid gayer or busier scenes. Young Roland was to the Lady 
of Avenel what the flower which occupies the window of some 
solitary captive is to the poor wight by whom it is nursed and 
cultivated, — something which at once excited and repaid her 
care ; and in giving the boy her affection, she felt, as it were, 
grateful to him for releasing her from the state of dull apathy in 
which she had usually found herself during the absence of Sir 
Halbert Glendinning. 

But even the charms of this blooming favorite were unable to 
chase the recurring apprehensions which arose from her husband’s 
procrastinated return. Soon after Roland Graeme became a res- 
ident at the castle, a groom, dispatched by Sir Halbert, brought 
tidings that business still delayed the Knight at the Court of 
Holyrood . 1 The more distant period which the messenger had 

1 The palace of the kings of Scotland, at Edinburgh, named from the 
Abbey of the Holy Rood, or Cross, founded in 1128 by David I., close to 


THE ABBOT. 


33 


assigned for his master’s arrival at length glided away, summer 
melted into autumn, and autumn was about to give place to win- 
ter, and yet he came not. 


CHAPTER III. 

“ /\ND you, too, would be a soldier, Roland? ” said the Lady 
II of Avenel to her young charge, while, seated on a stone 
chair at one end of the battlements, she saw the boy attempt, 
with a long stick, to mimic the motions of the warder as he 
alternately shouldered, or ported , 1 or sloped 2 pike. 

“Yes, Lady,” said the boy, for he was now familiar, and re- 
plied to her questions with readiness and alacrity ; “a soldier 
will I be ; for there ne’er was gentleman but who belted him 
with the brand.” 3 

“ Thou a gentleman! ” said Lilias, who, as usual, was in attend- 
ance ; “ such a gentleman as I would make of a bean-cod with a 
rusty knife.” 

“ Nay, chide him not, Lilias,” said the Lady of Avenel, “for, 
beshrew me, but I think he comes of gentle blood. See how it 
musters in his face at your injurious reproof.” 

“ Had I my will, madam,” answered Lilias, “ a good birchen 
wand should make his color muster to better purpose still.” 

“ On my word, Lilias,” said the Lady, “ one would think you 
had received harm from the poor boy ; or is he so far on the 
frosty side of your favor because he enjoys the sunny side of 
mine? ” 

which it was built. It was several times burned by the English, and restored. 
Of the ancient building, only the towers of the wing, containing Queen 
Mary’s rooms, survive. 

1 To carry a weapon with both hands, slanting upward toward the left, 
and crossing the body in front. 

2 To carry obliquely on the shoulder. 

3 A burning piece of wood ; hence, a sword, from its firelike flashing. 

3 


34 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Over heavens forbode , 1 my Lady!” answered Lilias. “I 
have lived too long with gentles , 2 I praise my stars for it, to fight 
with either follies or fantasies, whether they relate to beast, bird, 
or boy.” 

Lilias was a favorite in her own class, a spoiled domestic, and 
often accustomed to take more license than her mistress was at 
all times willing to encourage. But what did not please the Lady 
of Avenel, she did not choose to hear ; and thus it was on the 
present occasion. She resolved to look more close and sharply 
after the boy, who had hitherto been committed chiefly to the 
management of Lilias. He must, she thought, be born of gentle 
blood ; it were shame to think otherwise of a form so noble, 
and features so fair. The very wildness in which he occa- 
sionally indulged, his contempt of danger, and impatience of 
restraint, had in them something noble ; assuredly the child 
was born of high rank. Such was her conclusion, and she acted 
upon it accordingly. The domestics around her, less jealous or 
less scrupulous than Lilias, acted as servants usually do, follow- 
ing the bias, and flattering, for their own purposes, the humor of 
the Lady ; and the boy soon took on him those airs of superior- 
ity which the sight of habitual deference seldom fails to inspire. 
It seemed, in truth, as if to command were his natural sphere, so 
easily did he use himself to exact and receive compliance with 
his humors. The chaplain, indeed, might have interposed to 
check the air of assumption which Roland Graeme so readily 
indulged, and most probably would have willingly rendered him 
that favor ; but the necessity of adjusting with his brethren some 
disputed points of church discipline had withdrawn him for 
some time from the castle, and detained him in a distant part of 
the kingdom. 

Matters stood thus in the Castle of Avenel, when a winded 3 
bugle sent its shrill and prolonged notes from the shore of the 
lake, and was replied to cheerily by the signal of the warder. 

1 May the heavens forbid. 2 Persons of noble birth. 

3 *To wind is to blow. 


THE ABBOT. 


35 


The Lady of Avenel knew the sounds of her husband, and rushed 
to the window of the apartment in which she was sitting. A 
band of about thirty spearmen, with a pennon displayed before 
them, winded 1 along the indented shores of the lake, and ap- 
proached the causeway. A single horseman rode at the head of 
the party, his bright arms catching a glance of the October sun 
as he moved steadily along. Even at that distance the Lady 
recognized the lofty plume, bearing the mingled colors of her 
own liveries and those of Glendonwyne , 2 blended with the holly 
branch ; 3 and the firm seat and dignified demeanor of the rider, 
joined to the stately motion of the dark-brown steed, sufficiently 
announced Halbert Glendinning. 

The Lady’s first thought was that of rapturous joy at her hus- 
band’s return ; her second was connected with a fear which had 
sometimes intruded itself, that he might not altogether approve 
the peculiar distinction with which she had treated her orphan 
ward. In this fear there was implied a consciousness that -the 
favor she had shown him was excessive; for Halbert Glendin- 
ning was at least as gentle and indulgent as he was firm and 
rational in the intercourse of his household ; and to her, in par- 
ticular, his conduct had ever been most affectionately tender. 

Yet she did fear that, on the present occasion, her conduct 
might incur Sir Halbert’s censure ; and hastily resolving that she 
would not mention the anecdote of the boy until the next day, 
she ordered him to be withdrawn from the apartment by Lilias. 

“ I will not go with Lilias, madam,” answered the spoiled 
child, who had more than once carried his point by persever- 
ance, and who, like his betters, delighted in the exercise of such 
authority. “ I will not go to Lilias’s gousty room. I will stay 
and see that brave warrior who comes riding so gallantly along 
the drawbridge.” 

“ You must not stay, Roland,” said the Lady, more positively 
than she usually spoke to her little favorite. 

1 Wound. 2 A house of ancient descent, allied with the Earls of Douglas. 

3 The badge of the House of Avenel. 


36 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ I will,” reiterated the boy, who had already felt his conse- 
quence, and the probable chance of success. 

“ You will, Roland! ” answered the Lady. “ What manner of 
word is that? I tell you, you must go.” 

“Will,” answered the forward boy, “is a word for a man, and 
must is no word for a lady.” 

“You are saucy, sirrah,” said the Lady. — “Lilias, take him 
with you instantly.” 

“I always thought,” said Lilias smiling, as she seized the 
reluctant boy by the arm, “that my young master must give 
place to my old one.” 

“And you, too, are malapert, mistress!” said the Lady. 
“ Hath the moon changed , 1 that ye all of you thus forget your- 
selves? ” 

Lilias made no reply, but led off the boy, who, too proud to 
offer unavailing resistance, darted at his benefactress a glance 
which intimated plainly how willingly he would have defied her 
authority, had he possessed the power to make good his point. 

The Lady of Avenel was vexed to find how much this trifling 
circumstance had discomposed her, at the moment when she 
ought naturally to have been entirely engrossed by her husband’s 
return. But we do not recover composure by the mere feeling 
that agitation is mistimed. The glow of displeasure had not left 
the Lady’s cheek, her ruffled deportment was not yet entirely 
composed, when her husband, unhelmeted, but still wearing the 
rest of his arms, entered the apartment. His appearance ban- 
ished the thoughts of everything else ; she rushed to him, clasped 
his iron-sheathed frame in her arms, and kissed his martial and 
manly face with an affection which was at once evident and sin- 
cere. The warrior returned her embrace and her caress with the 
same fondness ; for the time which had passed since their union 
had diminished its romantic ardor, perhaps, but it had rather 
increased its rational tenderness, and Sir Halbert Glendinning’s 

1 The moon, especially in her changes, was thought, even in the seven- 
teenth century, to have influence upon the human mind. 


THE ABBOT. 37 

long and frequent absences from his castle had prevented affec- 
tion from degenerating by habit into indifference. 

When the first eager greetings were paid and received, the 
Lady gazed fondly on her husband’s face as she remarked, “You 
are altered, Halbert, — you have ridden hard and far to-day, or 
you have been ill? ” 

“ I have been well, Mary,” answered the Knight, “ passing 
well have I been ; and a long ride is to me, thou well knowest, 
but a thing of constant custom. Those who are born noble may 
slumber out their lives within the walls of their castles and manor 
houses ; 1 but he who hath achieved nobility by his own deeds 
must ever be in the saddle, to show that he merits his advance- 
ment.” 

While he spoke thus, the Lady gazed fondly on him, as if 
erfdeavoring to read his inmost soul ; for the tone in which he 
spoke was that of melancholy depression. 

Sir Halbert Glendinning was the same, yet a different person 
from what he had appeared in his early years. The fiery free- 
dom of the aspiring youth had given place to the steady and 
stern composure of the approved soldier and skillful politician. 
There were deep traces of care on those noble features, over 
which each emotion used formerly to pass like light clouds across 
a summer sky. That sky was now not perhaps clouded, but still 
and grave, like that of the sober autumn evening. The forehead 
was higher and more bare than in early youth, and the locks, 
which still clustered thick and dark on the warrior’s head, were 
worn away at the temples, not by age, but by the constant 
pressure of the steel cap, or helmet. His beard, according to 
the fashion of the time, grew short and thick, and was turned 
into mustaches on the upper lip and peaked at the extremity. 
The cheek, weather-beaten and embrowned, had lost the glow of 
youth, but showed the vigorous complexion of active and con- 
firmed manhood. Halbert Glendinning was, in a word, a knight 

1 A manor is a landed estate, the tenure of which vests the proprietor with 
particular rights of lordship. 


38 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


to ride at a king’s right hand, to bear his banner in war, and to 
be his counselor in time of peace ; for his looks expressed the 
considerate firmness which can resolve wisely and dare boldly. 
Still, over these noble features there now spread an air of dejec- 
tion, of which, perhaps, the owner was not conscious, but which 
did not escape the observation of his anxious and affectionate 
partner. 

“ Something has happened, or is about to happen,” said the 
Lady of Avenel ; “ this sadness sits not on your brow without 
cause. Misfortune, national or particular, must needs be at 
hand.” 

“ There is nothing new that I wot 1 of,” said Halbert Glendin- 
ning ; “ but there is little of evil which can befall a kingdom, 
that may not be apprehended in this unhappy and divided 
realm.” 

“Nay, then,” said the Lady, “I see there hath really been 
some fatal work on foot. My Lord of Murray has not so long 
detained you at Holyrood, save that he wanted your help in 
some weighty purpose.” 

“ I have not been at Holyrood, Mary,” answered the Knight ; 
“ I have been several weeks abroad.” 

“Abroad! and sent me no word? ” replied the Lady. 

“ What would the knowledge have availed but to have ren- 
dered you unhappy, my love?” replied the Knight. “Your 
thoughts would have converted the slightest breeze that curled 
your own lake into a tempest raging in the German Ocean .” 2 

“ And have you then really crossed the sea? ” said the Lady, 
to whom the very idea of an element which she had never seen 
conveyed notions of terror and of wonder, “ really left your own 
native land, and trodden distant shores, where the Scottish tongue 
is unheard and unknown? ” 

“Really, and really,” said the Knight, taking her hand in 
affectionate playfulness, “ I have done this marvelous deed, — 

1 Know; a remnant of the Anglo-Saxon verb witan (“ to know ”). 

2 The North Sea, between Great Britain and Holland. 


THE ABBOT. 


39 


have rolled on the ocean for three days and three nights, with 
the deep, green waves dashing by the side of my pillow, and but 
a thin plank to divide me from it.” 

“ Indeed, my Halbert,” said the Lady, “ that was a tempting 
of divine Providence. I never bade you unbuckle the sword 
from your side, or lay the lance from your hand ; I never bade 
you sit still when your honor called you to rise and ride ; but 
are not blade and spear dangers enough for one man’s life, and 
why would you trust rough waves and raging seas? ” 

“ We have in Germany, and in the Low Countries , 1 as they 
are called,” answered Glendinning, “ men who are united with us 
in faith, and with whom it is fitting we should unite in alliance. 
To some of these I was dispatched on business as important as 
it was secret. I went in safety, and I returned in security ; there 
is more danger to a man’s life betwixt this and Holyrood, than 
in all the seas that wash the lowlands of Holland.” 

“ And the country, my Halbert, and the people,” said the 
Lady, “ are they like our kindly Scots? or what bearing have 
they to strangers? ” 

“ They are a people, Mary, strong in their wealth, which ren- 
ders all other nations weak, and weak in those arts of war by 
which other nations are strong.” 

“ I do not understand you,” said the Lady. 

“The Hollander and the Fleming , 2 Mary, pour forth their 
spirit in trade, and not in war ; their wealth purchases them the 
arms of foreign soldiers, by whose aid they defend it. They 
erect dikes on the seashore to protect the land which they have 
won, and they levy regiments of the stubborn Switzers and hardy 
Germans to protect the treasures which they have amassed. 
And thus they are strong in their weakness ; for the very wealth 
which tempts their masters to despoil them, arms strangers in 
their behalf.” 

1 The Netherlands ; Holland. 

2 A native of Flanders, a province which at one time included a part of 
modern Belgium and the neighboring lowlands. 


40 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“The slothful hinds!” exclaimed Mary, thinking and feeling 
like a Scotswoman of the period. “ Have they hands, and fight 
not for the land which bore them? They should be notched off 
at the elbow!” 

“Nay, that were but hard justice,” answered her husband; 
“ for their hands serve their country, though not in battle, like 
ours. Look at these barren hills, Mary, and at that deep wind- 
ing vale by which the cattle are even now returning from their 
scanty browse. The hand of the industrious Fleming would 
cover these mountains with wood, and raise corn where we now 
see a starved and scanty sward of heath and ling. It grieves 
me, Mary, when I look on that land, and think what benefit it 
might receive from such men as I have lately seen, — men who 
seek not the idle fame derived from dead ancestors, or the bloody 
renown won in modern broils, but tread along the land as pre- 
servers and improvers, not as tyrants and destroyers.” 

“These amendments would here be but a vain fancy, my 
Halbert,” answered the Lady of Avenel ; “ the trees would be 
burned by the English foemen, ere they ceased to be shrubs, 
and the grain that you raised would be gathered in by the first 
neighbor that possessed more riders than follow your train. 
Why should you repine at this? The fate that made you Scots- 
man by birth, gave you head, and heart, and hand, to uphold 
the name as it must needs be upheld.” 

“It gave me no name to uphold,” said Halbert, pacing the 
floor slowly. “ My arm has been foremost in every strife, my 
voice has been heard in every council, nor have the wisest re- 
buked me. The crafty Lethington , 1 the deep and dark Mor- 
ton , 2 have held secret council with me, and Grange 3 and Lind- 

1 William Maitland, of Lethington, was one of the most adroit statesmen 
of his time. He held a moderate and somewhat wavering course, between 
the Protestant lords and Queen Mary. 

2 James Douglas, younger son of Sir George Douglas, of Pittendreich, 
and Earl of Morton by marriage. When Murray was assassinated in 1572, 
he became regent. 

3 Sir William Kirkaldy, Laird of Grange in Fife. He was, in general, 


THE ABBOT. 


4 


say 1 have owned that in the field I did the devoir of a gallant 
knight ; but let the emergence be passed when they need my 
head and hand, and they only know me as son of the obscure 
portioner 2 of Glendearg.” 

This was a theme which the Lady always dreaded ; for the 
rank conferred on her husband, the favor in which he was held 
by the powerful Earl of Murray, and the high talents by which 
he vindicated his right to that rank and that favor, were qualities 
which rather increased than diminished the envy which was 
harbored against Sir Halbert Glendinning among a proud aris- 
tocracy, as a person originally of inferior and obscure birth, who 
had risen to his present eminence solely by his personal merit. 
The natural firmness of his mind did not enable him to despise 
the ideal advantages of a higher pedigree, which were held in 
such universal esteem by all with whom he conversed ; and so 
open are the noblest minds to jealous inconsistencies, that there 
were moments in which he felt mortified that his lady should 
possess those advantages of birth and high descent which he 
himself did not enjoy, and regretted that his importance as the 
proprietor of Avenel was qualified by his possessing it only as the 
husband of the heiress. He was not so unjust as to permit any 
unworthy feelings to retain permanent possession of his mind, 
but yet they recurred from time to time, and did not escape his 
lady’s anxious observation. 

“ Had we been blessed with children,” she was wont on such 
occasions to say to herself, “ had our blood been united in a son 
who might have joined my advantages of descent with my hus- 
band’s personal worth, these painful and irksome reflections had 
not disturbed our union even for a moment. But the existence 
of such an heir, in whom our affections, as well as our preten- 
sions, might have centered, has been denied to us.” 

in the party of Murray ; Mary surrendered to him at Carberry Hill. Later 
he joined the Queen’s party, fell into Morton’s hands, and was executed. 

1 A rude but brave baron among the reforming lords. 

2 In Scots’ law, the holder of a small fen or portion of land. 


42 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


With such mutual feelings, it cannot be wondered that it gave 
the Lady pain to hear her husband verging towards this topic of 
mutual discontent. On the present, as on other similar occa- 
sions, she endeavored to divert the Knight’s thoughts from this 
painful channel. 

“ How can you,” she said, “ suffer yourself to dwell upon 
things which profit nothing? Have you indeed no name to up- 
hold? You, the good and the brave, the wise in council, and 
the strong in battle, have you not to support the reputation your 
own deeds have won, a reputation more honorable than mere 
ancestry can supply? Good men love and honor you, the 
wicked fear, and the turbulent obey you ; and is it not necessary 
you should exert yourself to insure the endurance of that love, 
that honor, that wholesome fear, and that necessary obedience?” 

As she thus spoke, the eye of her husband caught from hers 
courage and comfort, and it lightened as he took her hand and 
replied, “It is most true, my Mary, and I deserve thy rebuke, 
who forget what I am in repining because I am not what I 
cannot be. I am now what the most famed ancestors of those 
I envy were, the mean man raised into eminence by his own 
exertions ; and sure it is a boast as honorable to have those 
capacities which are necessary to the foundation of a family, as 
to be descended from one who possessed them some centuries 
before. The Hay of Loncarty, 1 who bequeathed his bloody 
yoke to his lineage^ the ‘ dark gray man,’ 2 who first founded the 
House of Douglas, had yet less of ancestry to boast than I have. 
For thou knowest, Mary, that my name derives itself from a line 

1 The family of Hay was founded hy a plowman and his two sons, who 
rushed into battle with the yoke of their plow and whatever else was at hand 
for weapons, and brought about a complete overthrow of the invading Danes 
in the fight near Luncarty, or Loncarty (990). The lands covered in a fal- 
con’s flight were given to them, and the yoke became their armorial bearing. 

2 According to tradition, the Douglases derived their name from a cham- 
pion who had distinguished himself in battle and was pointed out to the 
King as “ Shoito Douglas,”— said to mean “ yonder dark gray man.” The 
name, however, is probably taken from Douglas Vale. 


THE ABBOT. 


43 


of ancient warriors, although my immediate forefathers preferred 
the humble station in which thou didst first find them ; and war 
and counsel are not less proper to the House of Glendonwyne, 
even in its most remote descendants, than to the proudest of 
their baronage.” 1 

He strode across the hall as he spoke ; and the Lady smiled 
internally to observe how much his mind dwelt upon the preroga- 
tives of birth, and endeavored to establish his claims, however 
remote, to a share in them, at the very moment when he affected 
to hold them in contempt. It will easily be guessed, however, 
that she permitted no symptom to escape her that could show she 
was sensible of the weakness of her husband, a perspicacity which 
perhaps his proud spirit could not very easily have brooked. 

As he returned from the extremity of the hall, to which he had 
stalked while in the act of vindicating the title of the House of 
Glendonwyne, in its most remote branches, to the full privileges 
of aristocracy, “Where,” he said, “is Wolf? I have not seen 
him since my return, and he was usually the first to welcome my 
home-coming.” 

“ Wolf,” said the Lady, with a slight degree of embarrass- 
ment, for which, perhaps, she would have found it difficult to 
assign any reason even to herself, “Wolf is chained up for the 
present. He has been surly to my page.” 

“Wolf chained up! and Wolf surly to your page!” answered 
Sir Halbert Glendinning. “ W olf never was siy^ly to any one ; and 
the chain will either break his spirit or render him savage. — 
So ho, there — set Wolf free directly.” 

He was obeyed ; and the huge dog rushed into the hall, dis- 
turbing, by his unwieldy and boisterous gambols, the whole econ- 
omy of reels , 2 rocks , 3 and distaffs with which the maidens of the 

1 In Scotland, all of the same clan or tribe are considered as descended 
from the same stock, and entitled to the ancestral honor of the chief branch. 

2 Frames on which the yarn was wound. 

3 Distaffs held in the hand on which the thread was spun by twirling a 
ball below. 


44 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


household were employed when the arrival of their lord was a 
signal to them to withdraw, and extracting from Lilias, who was 
summoned to put them again in order, the natural observation 
that the Laird’s pet was as troublesome as the Lady’s page. 

“And who is this page, Mary? ” said the Knight, his attention 
again called to the subject by the observation of the waiting 
woman ; “ who is this page, whom every one seems to weigh in 
the balance with my old friend and favorite, Wolf? When did 
you aspire to the dignity of keeping a page, or who is the boy? ” 

“ I trust, my Halbert,” said the Lady, not without a blush, 
“ you will not think your wife entitled to less attendance than 
other ladies of her quality? ” 

“ Nay, Dame Mary,” answered the Knight, “it is enough you 
desire such an attendant. Yet I have never loved to nurse such 
useless menials ; a lady’s page — it may well suit the proud Eng- 
lish dames to have a slender youth to bear their trains from 
bower to hall, fan them when they slumber, and touch the lute 1 
for them when they please to listen ; but our Scottish matrons 
were wont to be above such vanities, and our Scottish youth 
ought to be bred to the spear and the stirrup.” 

“ Nay, but, my husband,” said the Lady, “ I did but jest when 
I called this boy my page ; he is, in sooth, a little orphan whom 
we saved from perishing in the lake, and whom I have since kept 
in the castle out of charity. — Lilias, bring little Roland hither.” 

Roland entered accordingly, and, flying to the Lady’s side, 
took hold of the plaits of her gown, and then turned round, and 
gazed, with an attention not unmingled with fear, upon the stately 
form of the Knight. “ Roland,” said the Lady, “ go kiss the 
hand of the noble Knight, and ask him to be thy protector.” 
But Roland obeyed not, and, keeping his station, continued to 
gaze fixedly and timidly on Sir Halbert Glendinning. “ Go to 
the Knight, boy,” said the Lady. “What dost thou fear, child? 
Go, kiss Sir Halbert’s hand.” 

1 A musical instrument of the middle ages, resembling a modern guitar 
or mandolin. 


THE ABBOT 


45 


“ I will kiss no hand save yours, Lady/’ answered the boy. 

“ Nay, but do as you are commanded, child,” replied the 
Lady. — “He is dashed 1 by your presence,” she said, apologizing 
to her husband ; “ but is he not a handsome boy? ” 

“And so is Wolf,” said Sir Halbert, as he patted his huge 
four-footed favorite, “ a handsome dog ; but he has this double 
advantage over your new favorite, that he does what he is com- 
manded, and hears not when he is praised.” 

“Nay, now you are displeased with me,” replied the Lady; 
“and yet why should you be so? There is nothing wrong in 
relieving the distressed orphan, or in loving that which is in itself 
lovely and deserving of affection. But you have seen Mr. War- 
den at Edinburgh, and he has set you against the poor boy.” 

“ My dear Mary,” answered her husband, “ Mr. Warden bet- 
ter knows his place than to presume to interfere either in your 
affairs or in mine. I neither blame your relieving this boy, nor 
your kindness for him. But I think, considering his birth and 
prospects, you ought not to treat him with injudicious fondness, 
which can only end in rendering him unfit for the humble situa- 
tion to which Heaven has designed him.” 

“ Nay, but, my Halbert, do but look at the boy,” said the 
Lady, “ and see whether he has not the air of being intended by 
Heaven for something nobler than a mere peasant. May he not 
be designed, as others have been, to rise out of a humble situa- 
tion into honor and eminence ? ” 

Thus far had she proceeded, when the consciousness that she 
was treading upon delicate ground at once occurred to her, and 
induced her to take the most natural but the worst of all courses 
on such occasions, whether in conversation or in an actual bog, 
namely, that of stopping suddenly short in the illustration which 
she had commenced. Her brow crimsoned, and that of Sir Hal- 
bert Glendinning was slightly overcast. But it was only for an 
instant ; for he was incapable of mistaking his lady’s meaning, 
or supposing that she meant intentional disrespect to him. 

Abashed. 


46 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Be it as you please, my love,” he replied. “ I owe you too 
much to contradict you in aught which may render your solitary 
mode of life more endurable. Make of this youth what you 
will, and you have my full authority for doing so. But remem- 
ber he is your charge, not mine ; remember he hath limbs to do 
man’s service, a soul and a tongue to worship God ; breed 1 him, 
therefore, to be true to his country and to Heaven, and for the 
rest, dispose of him as you list ; 2 it is, and shall rest, your own 
matter.” 

This conversation decided the fate of Roland Grseme, who 
from thenceforward was little noticed by the master of the man- 
sion of Avenel, but indulge^ and favored by its mistress. 

This situation led to many important consequences, and, in 
truth, tended to bring forth the character of the youth in all its 
broad lights and deep shadows. As the Knight himself seemed 
tacitly to disclaim alike interest and control over the immediate 
favorite of his lady, young Roland was, by circumstances, ex- 
empted from the strict discipline to which, as the retainer of a 
Scottish man of rank, he would otherwise have been subjected 
according to all the rigor of the age. But the steward, or master 
of the household — such was the proud title assumed by the head 
domestic of each petty baron — deemed it not advisable to inter- 
fere with the favorite of the Lady, and especially since she had 
brought the estate into the present family. Master Jasper Win- 
gate was a man experienced, as he often boasted, in the ways of 
great families, and knew how to keep the steerage 3 even when 
wind and tide chanced to be in contradiction. 

This prudent personage winked at much, and avoided giving 
opportunity for further offense, by requesting little of Roland 
Graeme beyond the degree of attention which he was himself 
disposed to pay; rightly conjecturing that, however lowly the 
place which the youth might hold in the favor of the Knight of 
Avenel, still to make an evil report of him would make an enemy 
of the Lady, without securing the favor of her husband. With 
1 Train. 2 Desire to do. 3 Course. 


THE ABBOT. 


47 


these prudential considerations, and doubtless not without an 
eye to his own ease and convenience, he taught the boy as much, 
and only as much, as he chose to learn, readily admitting what- 
ever apology it pleased his pupil to allege in excuse for idleness 
or negligence. As the other persons in the castle, to whom such 
tasks were delegated, readily imitated the prudential conduct of 
the major-domo, there was little control used towards Roland 
Graeme, who, of course, learned no more than what a very active 
mind and a total impatience of absolute idleness led him to 
acquire upon his own account, and by dint of his own exertions. 
The latter were especially earnest when the Lady herself con- 
descended to be his tutoress, or to examine his progress. 

It followed also from his quality as my Lady’s favorite, that 
Roland was viewed with no peculiar good will by the followers 
of the Knight, many of whom, of the same age, and apparently 
similar origin, with the fortunate page, were subjected to severe 
observance of the ancient and rigorous discipline of a feudal 
retainer . 1 To these Roland Graeme was of course an object of 
envy, and, in consequence, of dislike and detraction ; but the 
youth possessed qualities which it was impossible to depreciate. 
Pride, and a sense of early ambition, did for him what severity 
and constant instruction did for others. In truth, the youthful 
Roland displayed that early flexibility, both of body and mind, 
which renders exercise, either mental or bodily, rather matter of 
sport than of study ; and it seemed as if he acquired accident- 
ally, and by starts, those accomplishments which earnest and 
constant instruction, enforced by frequent reproof and occasional 
chastisement, had taught to others. Such military exercises, 


1 The feudal system of land tenures granted on condition of military 
service, was based upon customs common to all the Germanic tribes, but in 
its full rigor was only introduced into Great Britain by William the Con- 
queror, who parceled the land out to his Norman subjects, after his conquest 
in 1066. Here “ feudal retainer ” means a military follower of a feudal lord, 
rather than a vassal serving the lord of whom he held land, on particular 
occasions only. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


48 

such lessons of the period, as he found it agreeable or convenient 
to apply to, he learned so perfectly as to confound those who 
were ignorant how often the want of constant application is 
compensated by vivacity of talent and ardent enthusiasm. The 
lads, therefore, who were more regularly trained to arms, to 
horsemanship, and to other necessary exercises of the period, 
while they envied Roland Graeme the indulgence or negligence 
with which he seemed to be treated, had little reason to boast of 
their own superior acquirements ; a few hours, with the powerful 
exertion of a most energetic will, seemed to do for him more 
than the regular instruction of weeks could accomplish for 
others. 

Under these advantages, if, indeed, they were to be termed 
such, the character of young Roland began to develop itself. It 
was bold, peremptory, decisive, and overbearing; generous if 
neither withstood nor contradicted ; vehement and passionate if 
censured or opposed. He seemed to consider himself as attached 
to no one, and responsible to no one, except his mistress, and even 
over her mind he had gradually acquired that species of ascend- 
ency which indulgence is so apt to occasion. And although the 
immediate followers and dependants of Sir Halbert Glendinning 
saw his ascendency with jealousy, and often took occasion to 
mortify his vanity, there wanted not those who were willing to 
acquire the favor of the Lady of Avenel by humoring and taking 
part with the youth whom she protected ; for although a favorite, 
as the poet assures us, has no friend, he seldom fails to have both 
followers and flatterers. 

The partisans of Roland Graeme were chiefly to be found 
amongst the inhabitants of the little hamlet on the shore of the 
lake. These villagers, who were sometimes tempted to compare 
their own situation with that of the immediate and constant fol- 
lowers of the Knight, who attended him on his frequent jour- 
neys to Edinburgh and elsewhere, delighted in considering and 
representing themselves as more properly the subjects of the 
Lady of Avenel than of her husband. It is true, her wisdom 


THE ABBOT. 49 

and affection on all occasions discountenanced the distinction 
which was here implied ; but the villagers persisted in thinking 
it must be agreeable to her to enjoy their peculiar and undivided 
homage, or at least in acting as if they thought so ; and one chief 
mode by which they evinced their sentiments was by the respect 
they paid to young Roland Grseme, the favorite attendant of the 
descendant of their ancient lords. This was a mode of flattery 
too pleasing to encounter rebuke or censure; and the opportu- 
nity which it afforded the youth to form, as it were, a party of his 
own within the limits of the ancient Barony 1 of Avenel, added 
not a little to the audacity and decisive tone of a character which 
was by nature bold, impetuous, and incontrollable. 

Of the two members of the household who had manifested an 
early jealousy of Roland Graeme, the prejudices of Wolf were 
easily overcome ; and in process of time the noble dog slept with 
Bran, Luath , 2 and the celebrated hounds of ancient days. But 
Mr. Warden, the chaplain, lived, and retained his dislike to the 
youth. That good man, single-minded and benevolent as he 
really was, entertained rather more than a reasonable idea of the 
respect due to him as a minister, and exacted from the inhab- 
itants of the castle more deference than the haughty young page, 
proud of his mistress’s favor, and petulant from youth and situa- 
tion, was at all times willing to pay. His bold and free demean- 
or, his attachment to rich dress and decoration, his inaptitude to 
receive instruction, and his hardening himself against rebuke, 
were circumstances which induced the good old man, with more 
haste than charity, to set the forward page down as a vessel of 
wrath , 3 and to presage that the youth nursed that pride and 

1 In Scotland, a large freehold estate, even where the proprietor is not a 
baron. 

2 The names of the beloved dogs of Fingal and Cuthullin, in the poem 
Fingal (published in the eighteenth century), purporting to be by Ossian, 
the ancient Gaelic bard, but probably composed, for the most part, by the 
editor, James Macpherson. 

3 See Rom. ix. 22. Figuratively, a person into whom wrath is con- 
ceived as having been poured or infused- 

4 


5 ° 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


haughtiness of spirit which goes before ruin and destruction. On 
the other hand, Roland evinced at times a marked dislike, and 
even something like contempt, of the chaplain. Most of the 
attendants and followers of Sir Halbert Qlendinning entertained 
the same charitable thoughts as the Rev. Mr. Warden ; but while 
Roland was favored by their Lady, and endured by their Lord, 
they saw no policy in making their opinions public. 

Roland Graeme was sufficiently sensible of the unpleasant situ- 
ation in which he stood ; but in the haughtiness of his heart he 
retorted upon the other domestics the distant, cold, and sarcastic 
manner in which they treated him, assumed an air of superiority 
which compelled the most obstinate to obedience, and had the 
satisfaction at least to be dreaded, if he was heartily hated. 

The chaplain’s marked dislike had the effect of recommending 
him to the attention of Sir Halbert’s brother, Edward, who now, 
under the conventual appellation of Father Ambrose, continued 
to be one of the few monks who, with the Abbot Eustatius, had, 
notwithstanding the nearly total downfall of their faith under the 
regency 1 of Murray, been still permitted to linger in the cloisters 2 
at Kennaquhair. Respect to Sir Halbert had prevented their 
being altogether driven out of the Abbey, though their order was 
now in a great measure suppressed, and they were interdicted the 
public exercise of their ritual , 3 and only allowed for their support 
a small pension out of their once splendid revenues. Father 
Ambrose, thus situated, was an occasional, though very rare, 
visitant at the Castle of Avene], and was at such times observed 
to pay particular attention to Roland Graeme, who seemed to 
return it with more depth of feeling than consisted with his usual 
habits. 

1 Government of one who rules in the place of a sovereign under age or 
absent. Murray’s rule as Queen Mary’s minister must be meant, for he did 
not become regent until 1567. 

2 Covered arcades, usually built around the courts of a monastery; 
hence, a religious house. 

3 Religious ceremony performed according to prescribed usage. 


THE ABBOT. 


51 


Thus situated, years glided on, during which the Knight of 
Avenel continued to act a frequent and important part in the 
convulsions of his distracted country ; while young Graeme an- 
ticipated, both in wishes and personal accomplishments, the age 
which should enable him to emerge from the obscurity of his 
present situation. 


CHAPTER IV. 

W HEN Roland Graeme was a youth about seventeen years 
of age, he chanced one summer morning to descend to 
the mew in which Sir Halbert Glendinning kept his hawks, in 
order to superintend the training of an eyas, or young hawk, 
which he himself, at the imminent risk of neck and limbs, had 
taken from a celebrated eyrie 1 in the neighborhood, called Gleds- 
craig. As he was by no means satisfied with the attention which 
had been bestowed on his favorite bird, he was not slack in testi- 
fying his displeasure to the falconer’s 2 lad, whose duty it was to 
have attended upon it. 

“What, ho! sir knave,” exclaimed Roland, “is it thus you 
feed the eyas with unwashed meat, as if you were gorging the 
foul brancher 3 of a worthless hoodie-crow? 4 By the mass, and 
thou hast neglected its castings 5 also for these two days? 
Think’st thou I ventured my neck to bring the bird down from 
the crag, that thou shouldst spoil him by thy neglect? ” And 
to add force to his remonstrances, he conferred a cuff or two on 
the negligent attendant of the hawks, who, shouting rather louder 

1 The nest of a bird of prey. 

2 The keeper of the hawks or falcons, which in the middle ages were 
often trained to hunt game, especially other birds; the sport being called 
hawking or falconry. 

3 A young hawk when it leaves the nest for trees. 

4 A hooded crow, so called because the head, wings, and back are black. 

5 Pellets of hemp or feathers, given to hawks as a purge and cast up again. 


5 2 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


than was necessary under all the circumstances, brought the mas- 
ter falconer to his assistance. 

Adam Woodcock, the falconer of Avenel, was an Englishman 
by birth, but so long in the service of Glendinning that he had 
lost much of his national attachment in that which he had formed 
to his master. He was a favorite in his department, jealous and 
conceited of his skill, as masters of the game usually are ; for the 
rest of his character, he was a jester and a parcel 1 poet (qualities 
which by no means abated his natural conceit), a jolly fellow, 
who, though a sound Protestant, loved a flagon of ale better than 
a long sermon, a stout man of his hands 2 when need required, 
true to his master, and a little presuming on his interest with 
him. 

Adam Woodcock, such as we have described him, by no 
means relished the freedom used by young Graeme in chastising 
his assistant. “ Hey, hey, my Lady’s page,” said he, stepping 
between his own boy and Roland, “ fair and softly, an 3 it like 
your gilt jacket ; hands off is fair play. If my boy has done 
amiss, I can beat him myself, and then you may keep your hands 
soft.” 

“ I will beat him and thee too,” answered Roland, without 
hesitation, “an you look not better after your business. See 
how the bird is cast away between you. I found the careless 
lurdane 4 feeding him with unwashed flesh, and she an eyas.” 

“ Go to,” said the falconer, “ thou art but an eyas thyself, 
child Roland. What knowest thou of feeding? I say that 
the eyas should have her meat unwashed, until she becomes a 
brancher; ’twere the ready way to give her the frounce , 5 to 
wash her meat sooner, and so knows every one who knows a 
gled 6 from a falcon.” 

1 Partial ; poor. 

2 “ Of his hands,” i.e., as to his hands ; as to his manual dexterity. 

3 If. 4 Compare French lourd, (“ heavy ”) : hence, a dull, stupid person. 

5 A disease of a hawk’s palate. 

6 Or glede. A kite ; an inferior sort of hawk. 


THE ABBOT. 


53 


“ It is thine own laziness, thou false English blood, that dost 
nothing but drink and sleep,” retorted the page, “and leaves 
that lither 1 lad to do the work, which he minds as little as thou.” 

“ And am I so idle then,” said the falconer, “ that have three 
cast 2 of hawks to look after, at perch and mew, and to fly them 
in the field to boot? — and is my Lady’s page so busy a man 
that he must take me up short ? — and am I of false English 
blood? I marvel what blood thou art, — neither Englander nor 
Scot, fish nor flesh ; a foundling from the Debatable Land, with- 
out either kith, kin, or ally! Marry , 3 out upon thee, foul kite, 
that would fain be a tercel gentle.” 4 

The reply to this sarcasm was a box on the ear, so well ap- 
plied that it overthrew the falconer into the cistern in which 
water was kept for the benefit of the hawks. Up started Adam 
Woodcock, his wrath no way appeased by the cold immersion, 
and seizing on a truncheon which stood by, would have soon 
requited the injury he had received, had not Roland laid his 
hand on his poniard, and sworn by all that was sacred that if 
he offered a stroke towards him, he would sheath the blade in 
his bowels. The noise was now so great that more than one of 
the household came in, and amongst others the major-domo, a 
grave personage, already mentioned, whose gold chain and white 
wand intimated his authority. At the appearance of this digni- 
tary, the strife was for the present appeased. He embraced, 
however, so favorable an opportunity to read Roland Graeme a 
shrewd lecture on the impropriety of his deportment to his fellow- 
menials, and to assure him that, should he communicate this fray 
to his master (who though now on one of his frequent expedi- 
tions was speedily expected to return), which but for respect to 
his Lady he would most certainly do, the residence of the culprit 
in the Castle of Avenel would be but of brief duration. “ But, 

i May mean either weak or wicked. 2 A cast is a pair. 

3 Marie, the name of the Virgin, invoked in oaths, meaning, “ indeed!” 

“ forsooth! ” 

4 “ Tercel gentle,” i.e., a trained male hawk. 


54 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


however,” added the prudent master of the household, “ I will 
report the matter first to my Lady.” 

“Very just, very right, Master Wingate,” exclaimed several 
voices together. “My Lady will consider if daggers are to be 
drawn on us for every idle word, and whether we are to live in 
a well ordered household, where there is the fear of God, or 
amongst drawn dirks and sharp knives.” 

The object of this general resentment darted an angry glance 
around him, and suppressing with difficulty the desire which 
urged him to reply in furious or in contemptuous language, re- 
turned his dagger into the scabbard, looked disdainfully around 
upon the assembled menials, turned short upon his heel, and, 
pushing aside those who stood betwixt him and the door, left the 
apartment. 

“ This will be no tree for my nest,” 1 said the falconer, “ if 
this cock-sparrow is to crow over us as he seems to do.” 

“He struck me with his switch yesterday,” said one of the 
grooms, “because the tail of his worship’s gelding was not 
trimmed altogether so as suited his humor.” 

“ And I promise you,” said the laundress, “ my young master 
will stick nothing to call an honest woman slut 2 and quean , 3 if 
there be but a speck of soot upon his band-collar.” 

“ If Master Wingate do not his errand to my Lady,” was the 
general result, “ there will be no tarrying in the same house with 
Roland Graeme.” 

The master of the household heard them all for some time, 
and then, motioning for universal silence, he addressed them with 
all the dignity of Malvolio 4 himself. “ My masters, — not for- 
getting you, my mistresses, — do not think the worse of me that 
I proceed with as much care as haste in this matter. Our master 
is a gallant knight, and will have his sway at home and abroad, 

1 “No tree,” etc., i.e., no place for me. 

2 A lazy, uncleanly woman ; hence, a term of contempt. 

3 A woman ; usually a term of disparagement. 

4 The self-important steward in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. 


THE ABBOT. 


55 


in wood and field, in hall and bower, as the saying is. Our 
Lady, my benison upon her, is also a noble person of long de- 
scent, and rightful heir of this place and barony, and she also 
loves her will ; as for that matter, show me the woman who doth 
not. Now, she hath favored, doth favor, and will favor, this 
jack-an-ape, 1 for what good part about him I know not, save that 
as one noble lady will love a messan 2 dog, and another a scream- 
ing popinjay, and a third a Barbary ape, so doth it please our 
noble dame to set her affections upon this stray elf of a page, for 
naught that I can think of, save that she was the cause of his 
being saved (the more’s the pity) from drowning.” And here 
Master Wingate made a pause. 

“ I would have been his caution for a gray groat 3 against salt 
water or fresh,” said Roland’s adversary, the falconer. “ Marry, 
if he crack not a rope 4 for stabbing or for snatching, I will be 
content never to hood hawk 5 again.” 

“ Peace, Adam Woodcock,” said Wingate, waving his hand ; 
“I prithee, peace, man. Now, my Lady liking this springald, as 
aforesaid, differs therein from my Lord, who loves never a bone 
in his skin. Now, is it for me to stir up strife betwixt them, and 
put as ’twere my finger betwixt the bark and the tree, on account 
of a pragmatical youngster, whom, nevertheless, I would willingly 
see whipped forth of the barony? Have patience, and this boil 
will break without our meddling. I have been in service since I 
wore a beard on my chin, till now that that beard has turned gray, 
and I have seldom known any one better themselves, even by 
taking the lady’s part against the lord’s ; but never one who did 
not dirk himself if he took the lord’s against the lady’s.” 


1 Originally, it is supposed, jackanapes, i.e., a man who exhibited per- 
forming apes ; hence, used contemptuously, with the simple meaning of ape. 

2 Mongrel ; a cur. 

3 A “ great ” or large coin ; proverbially, a small sum. 

4 “ If he crack not,” etc., i.e., if he be not hanged. 

5 A hawk was blinded with a hood adorned with bells, until the quarry, 
or game, was to be pursued. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


56 

“ And so,” said Lilias, “ we are to be crowed over, every one 
of us, men and women, cock and hen, by this little upstart? I 
will try titles 1 with him first, I promise you. I fancy, Master 
Wingate, for as wise as you look, you will be pleased to tell what 
you have seen to-day, if my Lady commands you? ” 

“ To speak the truth when my Lady commands me,” answered 
the prudential major-domo, “ is in some measure my duty, Mis- 
tress Lilias ; always providing for and excepting those cases in 
which it cannot be spoken without breeding mischief and incon- 
venience to myself or my fellow-servants; for the tongue of a 
talebearer breaketh bones as well as a Jeddart-staff.” 2 

“ But this imp of Satan is none of your friends or fellow-ser- 
vants,” said Lilias ; “ and I trust you mean not to stand up for 
him against the whole family besides? ” 

“ Credit me, Mistress Lilias,” replied the senior, “ should I see 
the time fitting, I would with right good will give him a lick with 
the rough side of my tongue.” 

“ Enough said, Master Wingate,” answered Lilias ; “ then trust 
me, his song shall soon be laid . 3 If my mistress does not ask 
me what is the matter below stairs before she be ten minutes of 
time older, she is no born woman, and my name is not Lilias 
Bradbourne.” 

In pursuance of her plan, Mistress Lilias failed not to present 
herself before her mistress with all the exterior of one who is 
possessed of an important secret ; that is, she had the corners of 
her mouth turned down, her eyes raised up, her lips pressed as 
fast together as if they had been sewed up to prevent her blab- 
bing, and an air of prim, mystical importance diffused over her 
whole person and demeanor, which seemed to intimate, “ I know 
something which I am resolved not to tell you ! ” 

Lilias had rightly read her mistress’s temper, who, wise and 
good as she was, was yet a daughter of Grandam Eve, and could 
not witness this mysterious bearing on the part of her waiting 

1 “Try titles,” i.e., dispute his claim. 

2 A species of battle-ax. Quieted. 


THE ABBOT. 


57 


woman without longing to ascertain the secret cause. For a 
space Mrs. Lilias was obdurate to all inquiries, sighed, turned 
her eyes up higher yet to heaven, hoped for the best, but had 
nothing particular to communicate. All this, as was most natu- 
ral and proper, only stimulated the Lady’s curiosity ; neither was 
her importunity to be parried with. “Thank God, I am no 
makebate 1 — no talebearer, — thank God, I never envied any 
one’s favor, or was anxious to propale 2 their misdemeanor — 
only, thank God, there has been no bloodshed and murder in the 
house — that is all.” 

“ Bloodshed and murder! ” exclaimed the Lady. “ What does 
the quean mean? If you speak not plain out, you shall have 
something you will scarce be thankful for.” 

“ Nay, my Lady,” answered Lilias, eager to disburden her 
mind, or, in Chaucer’s 3 phrase, to “ unbuckle her mail,” 4 “ if you 
bid me speak out the truth, you must not be moved with what 
might displease you. Roland Graeme has dirked Adam Wood- 
cock — that is all.” 

“ Good Heaven! ” said the Lady, turning pale as ashes, “is the 
man slain? ” 

“ No, madam,” replied Lilias, “but slain he would have been, 
if there had not been ready help ; but maybe it is your Ladyship’s 
pleasure that this young esquire shall poniard the servants, as 
well as switch and baton them.” 

“Go to, minion,” 5 said the Lady, “you are saucy. — Tell the 
master of the household to attend me instantly.” 

Lilias hastened to seek out Mr. Wingate, and hurry him to his 
Lady’s presence, speaking as a word in season to him on the way, 
“ I have set the stone a-trowling ; 6 look that you do not let it 
stand still.” 

l One who excites contention. 2 To publish. 

3 The earliest of the great English poets; born about 1340, died in 1400. 

4 A saddlebag, wallet, or sack, used especially by travelers. 

5 From French mignon (“darling”); applied first to a favorite, later, 

contemptuously, to a servant. 6 A-rolling. 


58 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


The steward, too prudential a person to commit himself other- 
wise, answered by a sly look and a nod of intelligence, and pres- 
ently after stood in the presence of the Lady of Avenel, with a 
look of great respect for his Lady, partly real, partly affected, and 
an air of great sagacity, which inferred no ordinary conceit of 
himself. 

“ How is this, Wingate,” said the Lady, ‘'and what rule do you 
keep in the castle, that the domestics of Sir Halbert Glendinning 
draw the dagger on each other, as in a cavern of thieves and 
murderers? Is the wounded man much hurt? And what — what 
hath become of the unhappy boy? ” 

“ There is no one wounded as yet, madam,” replied he of the 
golden chain. “ It passes my poor skill to say how many may be 
wounded before Pasche , 1 if some rule be not taken with this 
youth, — not but the youth is a fair youth,” he added, correcting 
himself, “ and able at his exercise ; but somewhat too ready with 
the ends of his fingers, the butt of his riding switch, and the 
point of his dagger.” 

“ And whose fault is that,” said the Lady, “ but yours, who 
should have taught him better discipline than to brawl or to 
draw his dagger? ” ' 

“ If it please your Ladyship so to impose the blame on me,” 
answered the steward, “ it is my part, doubtless, to bear it ; only 
I submit to your consideration that unless I nailed his weapon 
to the scabbard, I could no more keep it still than I could fix 
quicksilver, which defied even the skill of Raymond Lullius.” 2 

“ Tell me not of Raymond Lullius,” said the Lady, losing pa- 
tience, “but send me the chaplain hither. You grow all of you 
too wise for me, during your lord’s long and repeated absences. 
I would to God his affairs would permit him to remain at home 
and rule his own household, for it passes my wit and skill! ” 

1 Easter. 

2 Raymond Lully, of Majorca, called Doctor Illuminatus (1230-1313). 
His latest work, Arbor Scientise (“ the tree of science”), forms an encyclo- 
pedia of the knowledge of the thirteenth century. 


THE ABBOT. 


59 

“God forbid, my Lady,” said the old domestic, “that you 
should sincerely think what you are now pleased to say. Your 
old servants might well hope that, after so many years’ duty, you 
would do their service more justice than to distrust their gray 
hairs because they cannot rule the peevish humor of a green 
head, which the owner carries, it may be, a brace of inches higher 
than becomes him.” 

“ Leave me,” said the Lady. “ Sir Halbert’s return must now 
be expected daily, and he will look into these matters himself ; — 
leave me, I say, Wingate, without saying more of it. I know 
you are honest, and I believe the boy is petulant ; and yet I think 
it is my favor which hath set all of you against him.” 

The steward bowed and retired, after having been silenced in 
a second attempt to explain the motives on which he acted. 

The chaplain arrived; but neither from him did the Lady re- 
ceive much comfort. On the contrary, she found him disposed, 
in plain terms, to lay to the door of her indulgence all the dis- 
turbances which the fiery temper of Roland Graeme had already 
occasioned, or might hereafter occasion in the family. “ I would,” 
he said, “ honored Lady, that you had deigned to be ruled by 
me in the outset of this matter, sith 1 it is easy to stem evil in 
the fountain, but hard to struggle against it in the stream. Y ou, 
honored madam, (a word which I do not use according to the 
vain forms of this world, but because I have ever loved and 
honored you as an honorable and an elect lady), — you, I say, 
madam, have been pleased, contrary to my poor but earnest 
counsel, to raise this boy from his station into one approaching 
to your own.” 

“ What mean you, reverend sir? ” said the Lady. “ I have 
made this youth a page : is there aught in my doing so that does 
not become my character and quality? ” 

“ I dispute not, madam,” said the pertinacious preacher, “your 
benevolent purpose in taking charge of this youth, or your title 
to give him this idle character of page, if such was your pleasure ; 


1 Since. 


6o 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


though what the education of a boy in the train of a female can 
tend to, save to ingraft foppery and effeminacy on conceit and 
arrogance, it passes my knowledge to discover. But I blame 
you more directly for having taken little care to guard him 
against the perils of his condition, or to tame and humble a 
spirit naturally haughty, overbearing, and impatient. You have 
brought into your bower a lion’s cub ; delighted with the beauty 
of his fur, and the grace of his gambols, you have bound him 
with no fetters befitting the fierceness of his disposition. You 
have let him grow up as unawed as if he had been still a tenant 
of the forest, and now you are surprised, and call out for assist- 
ance, when he begins to ramp, rend, and tear, according to his 
proper nature.” 

“ Mr. Warden,” said the Lady, considerably offended, “ you are 
my husband’s ancient friend, and I believe your love sincere to 
him and to his household. Yet let me say that when I asked 
you for counsel, I expected not this asperity of rebuke. If I 
have done wrong in loving this poor orphan lad more than others 
of his class, I scarce think the error merited such severe censure ; 
and if stricter discipline were required to keep his fiery temper 
in order, it ought, I think, to be considered that I am a woman, 
and that if I have erred in this matter, it becomes a friend’s part 
rather to aid than to rebuke me. I would these evils were taken 
order with before my lord’s return. He loves not domestic dis- 
cord or domestic brawls; and I would not willingly that he 
thought such could arise from one whom I favored. What do 
you counsel me to do? ” 

“ Dismiss this youth from your service, madam,” replied the 
preacher. 

“You cannot bid me do so,” said the Lady; “you cannot, as 
a Christian and a man of humanity, bid me turn away an un- 
protected creature against whom my favor, my injudicious favor, 
if you will, has reared up so many enemies.” 

“ It is not necessary you should altogether abandon him, 
though you dismiss him to another service, or to a calling better 


THE ABBOT. 


61 


suiting his station and character,” said the preacher. “ Elsewhere 
he may be an useful and profitable member of the commonweal ; x 
here he is but a makebate, and a stumbling-block of offense. 
The youth has snatches of sense and of intelligence, though he 
lacks industry. I will myself give him letters commendatory to 
Olearius Schinderhausen, a learned professor at the famous Uni- 
versity of Leyden , 1 2 where they lack an under-janitor ; where, 
besides gratis 3 instruction, if God give him the grace to seek it, 
he will enjoy five merks by the year, and the professor’s cast-off 
suit, which he disparts with biennially.” 4 

“This will never do, good Mr. Warden,” said the Lady, scarce 
able to suppress a smile ; “ we will think more at large upon this 
matter. In the mean while, I trust to your remonstrances with 
this wild boy and with the family, for restraining these violent and 
unseemly jealousies and bursts of passion; and I entreat you to 
press on him and them their duty in this respect towards God, 
and towards their master.” 

“ You shall be obeyed, madam,” said Warden. “ On the next 
Thursday I exhort the family, and will, with God’s blessing, so 
wrestle with the demon of wrath and violence, which hath en- 
tered into my little flock, that I trust to hound the wolf out of 
the fold, as if he were chased away with bandogs.” 

This was the part of the conference from which Mr. Warden 
derived the greatest pleasure. The pulpit was at that time the 
same powerful engine for affecting popular feeling which the press 
has since become, and he had been no unsuccessful preacher, as 
we have already seen. It followed, as a natural consequence, 
that he rather overestimated the powers of his own oratory, and, 
like some of his brethren about the period, was glad of an oppor- 
tunity to handle any matters of importance, whether public or 

1 Commonwealth ; the State. 

2 A city in the south of Holland, at whose famous university studied the 
philosopher Descartes and other celebrated men. 

3 By grace; i.e., for nothing, free. 

4 “ Disparts,” etc., i.e., distributes once in two years. 


62 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


private, the discussion of which could be dragged into his dis- 
course. In that rude age, the delicacy was unknown which 
prescribed time and place to personal exhortations ; and as the 
court preacher often addressed the King individually, and dic- 
tated to him the conduct he ought to observe in matters of state, 
so the nobleman himself, or any of his retainers, were, in the 
chapel of the feudal castle, often incensed or appalled, as the 
case might be, by the discussion of their private faults in the 
evening exercise, and by spiritual censures directed against them, 
specifically, personally, and by name. 

The sermon, by means of which Henry Warden purposed to 
restore concord and good order to the Castle of Avenel, bore for 
text the well-known words, “ He who striketh with the sword 
shall perish by the sword ,” 1 and was a singular mixture of 
good sense and powerful oratory with pedantry and bad taste. 
He enlarged a good deal on the word “striketh,” which he assured 
his hearers comprehended blows given with the point as well as 
with the edge, and, more generally, shooting with hand gun, cross- 
bow, or longbow, thrusting with a lance, or doing anything what- 
ever by which death might be occasioned to the adversary. In 
the same manner he proved satisfactorily that the word “ sword ” 
comprehended all descriptions, whether backsword or basket hilt, 
cut-and-thrust or rapier, falchion or scimiter. “ But if,” he con- 
tinued, with still greater animation, “ the text includeth in its 
anathema 2 those who strike with any of those weapons which 
man hath devised for the exercise of his open hostility, still more 
doth it comprehend such as from their form and size are devised 
rather for the gratification of privy malice by treachery, than for 
the destruction of an enemy prepared and standing upon his 
defense. Such,” he proceeded, looking sternly at the place where 
the page was seated on a cushion at the feet of his mistress, and 
wearing in his crimson belt a gay dagger with a gilded hilt, 
“ such, more especially, I hold to be those implements of death, 
which, in our modem and fantastic times, are worn not only by 
1 See Matt. xxvi. 52. 2 A denunciation or execration. 


THE ABBOT. 


63 

thieves and cutthroats, to whom they most properly belong, but 
even by those who attend upon women, and wait in the cham- 
bers of honorable ladies. Yes, my friends, every species of this 
unhappy weapon, framed for all evil and for no good, is com- 
prehended under this deadly denunciation, whether it be a stilet, 
which we have borrowed from the treacherous Italian ; or a dirk, 
which is borne by the savage Highlandman ; or a whinger, which 
is carried by our own Border thieves and cutthroats ; or a dud- 
geon dagger. All are alike engines invented by the Devil himself, 
for ready implements of deadly wrath, sudden to execute and 
difficult to be parried. Even the common sword-and-buckler 
brawler despises the use of such a treacherous and malignant 
instrument, which is therefore fit to be used, not by men or sol- 
diers, but by those who, trained under female discipline, become 
themselves effeminate hermaphrodites , 1 having female spite and 
female cowardice added to the infirmities and evil passions of 
their masculine nature.” 

The effect which this oration produced upon the assembled 
congregation of Avenel cannot very easily be described. The 
Lady seemed at once embarrassed and offended ; the menials 
could hardly contain, under an affectation of deep attention, the 
joy with which they heard the chaplain launch his thunders at 
the head of the unpopular favorite, and the weapon which they 
considered as a badge of affectation and finery. Mrs. Lilias 
crested and drew up her head with all the deep-felt pride of 
gratified resentment ; while the steward, observing a strict neu- 
trality of aspect, fixed his eyes upon an old scutcheon 2 on the 
opposite side of the wall, which he seemed to examine with the 
utmost accuracy, more willing, perhaps, to incur the censure of 
being inattentive to the sermon, than that of seeming to listen 
with marked approbation to what appeared so distasteful to his 
mistress. 

The unfortunate subject of the harangue, whom nature had 

1 Creatures combining the characteristics of both sexes. 

2 A shield displaying armorial bearings. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


64 

endowed with passions which had hitherto found no effectual 
restraint, could not disguise the resentment which he felt at being 
thus directly held up to the scorn, as well as the censure, of the 
assembled inhabitants of the little world in which he lived. His 
brow grew red, his lip grew pale, he set his teeth, he clinched 
his hand, and then, with mechanical readiness, grasped the 
weapon of which the clergyman had given so hideous a charac- 
ter ; and at length, as the preacher heightened the coloring of his 
invective, he felt his rage become so ungovernable, that, fearful of 
being hurried into some deed of desperate violence, he rose up, 
traversed the chapel with hasty steps, and left the congregation. 

The preacher was surprised into a sudden pause, while the fiery 
youth shot across him like a flash of lightning, regarding him, as 
he passed, as if he had wished to dart from his eyes the same 
power of blighting and of consuming. But no sooner had he 
crossed the chapel, and shut with violence behind him the door 
of the vaulted entrance by which it communicated with the cas- 
tle, than the impropriety of his conduct supplied Warden with 
one of those happier subjects for eloquence, of which he knew 
how to take advantage for making, a suitable impression on his 
hearers. He paused for an instant, and then pronounced, in a 
slow and solemn voice, the deep anathema : “ He hath gone out 
from us because he was not of us. The sick man hath been of- 
fended at the wholesome bitter of the medicine ; — the wounded 
patient hath flinched from the friendly knife of the surgeon ; — the 
sheep hath fled from the sheepfold and delivered himself to the 
wolf, because he could not assume the quiet and humble conduct 
demanded of us by the great Shepherd. Ah, my brethren, be- 
ware of wrath! beware of pride! beware of the deadly and 
destroying sin which so often shows itself to our frail eyes in the 
garments of light! What is our earthly honor? Pride, and pride 
only. What our earthly gifts and graces? Pride and vanity. 
Voyagers speak of Indian men who deck themselves with shells, 
and anoint themselves with pigments, and boast of their attire as 
we do of our miserable carnal advantages. Pride could draw 


THE ABBOT. 


6 5 

down the morning star from heaven 1 even to the verge of the pit. 
Pride and self-opinion kindled the flaming sword 2 which waves 
us off from Paradise. Pride made Adam mortal, and a weary 
wanderer on the face of the earth, which he had else been at this 
day the immortal lord of. Pride brought amongst us sin, and 
doubles every sin it has brought. It is the outpost which the 
Devil and the flesh most stubbornly maintain against the assaults 
of grace ; and until it be subdued, and its barriers leveled with 
the very earth, there is more hope of a fool than of the sinner. 
Rend, then, from your bosoms this accursed shoot of the fatal 
apple ; tear it up by the roots, though it be twisted with the 
chords of your life. Profit by the example of the miserable sin- 
ner that has passed from us, and embrace the means of grace 
while it is called to-day, ere your conscience is s.eared as with a 
firebrand, and your ears deafened like those of the adder , 3 and 
your heart hardened like the nether millstone . 4 Up, then, and 
be doing ; wrestle and overcome ; resist, and the enemy shall 
flee from you. Watch and pray, lest ye fall into temptation, and 
let the stumbling of others be your warning and your example. 
Above all, rely not on yourselves, for such self-confidence is even 
the worst symptom of the disorder itself. The Pharisee , 5 perhaps, 
deemed himself humble while he stooped in the Temple, and 
thanked God that he was not as other men, and even as the 
publican. But while his knees touched the marble pavement, 
his head was as high as the topmost pinnacle of the Temple. 
Do not, therefore, deceive yourselves, and offer false coin, where 
the purest you can present is but as dross ; think not that such 
will pass the assay 6 of Omnipotent Wisdom. Yet shrink not 


1 See Isa. xiv. 12: “ How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son 
of the morning! ” The name “Lucifer ” was applied to Satan from an early 
belief that the above passage referred to Satan’s fall through pride. 

2 See Gen. iii. 24. 3 See Ps. lviii. 4. 4 See Job xli. 24. 

5 One of the ancient Jewish sect which was most severe in its interpreta- 

tion of law and tradition ; hence, any scrupulous observer of the outward 

forms of religion. 6 Test. 

5 


66 


S/R WALTER SCOTT. 


from the task, because, as is my bounden duty, I do not disguise 
from you its difficulties. Self-searching can do much ; medita- 
tion can do much ; grace can do all.” 

And he concluded with a touching and animating exhortation 
to his hearers to seek divine grace, which is perfected in human 
weakness. 

The audience did not listen to this address without being con- 
siderably affected ; though it might be doubted whether the feel- 
ings of triumph, excited by the disgraceful retreat of the favorite 
page, did not greatly qualify in the minds of many the exhorta- 
tions of the preacher to charity and to humility. And, in fact, 
the expression of their countenances much resembled the satisfied, 
triumphant air of a set of children, who, having just seen a com- 
panion punished for a fault in which they had no share, con their 
task with double glee, both because they themselves are out of 
the scrape, and because the culprit is in it. 

With very different feelings did the Lady of Avenel seek her 
own apartment. She felt angry at Warden having made a 
domestic matter, in which she took a personal interest, the sub- 
ject of such public discussion. But this she knew the good man 
claimed as a branch of his Christian liberty as a preacher, and 
also that it was vindicated by the universal custom of his breth- 
ren. But the self-willed conduct of her protege 1 afforded her 
yet deeper concern. That he had broken through in so remark- 
able a degree, not only the respect due to her presence, but that 
which was paid to religious admonition in those days with such 
peculiar reverence, argued a spirit as untamable as his enemies 
had represented him to possess. And yet so far as he had been 
under her own eye, she had seen no more of that fiery spirit than 
appeared to her to become his years and his vivacity. This 
opinion might be founded in some degree on partiality ; in some 
degree, too, it might be owing to the kindness and indulgence 
which she had always extended to him ; but still she thought it 
impossible that she could be totally mistaken in the estimate she 

1 One under the protection or patronage of another. 


THE ABBOT 


67 


had formed of his character. The extreme of violence is scarce 
consistent with a course of continued hypocrisy (although Lilias 
charitably hinted that in some instances they were happily united), 
and therefore she could not exactly trust the report of others 
against her own experience and observation. The thoughts of 
this orphan boy clung to her heartstrings with a fondness for 
which she herself was unable to account. He seemed to have 
been sent to her by Heaven, to fill up those intervals of languor 
and vacuity which deprived her of much enjoyment. Perhaps 
he was not less dear to her because she well saw that he was a 
favorite with no one else, and because she felt that to give him up 
was to afford the judgment of her husband and others a triumph 
over her own, a circumstance not quite indifferent to the best 
of spouses of either sex. 

In short, the Lady of Avenel formed the internal resolution 
that she would not desert her page while her page could be 
rationally protected ; and, with the view of ascertaining how far 
this might be done, she caused him to be summoned to her 
presence. 


CHAPTER V. 

I T was some time ere Roland Graeme appeared. The messen- 
ger (his old friend Lilias) had at first attempted to open the 
door of his little apartment, with the charitable purpose, doubt- 
less, of enjoying the confusion and marking the demeanor of the 
culprit. But an oblong bit of iron, yclept 1 a bolt, was passed 
across the door on the inside, and prevented her benign inten- 
tions. Lilias knocked and called at intervals. “ Roland — 
Roland Graeme — Master Roland Graeme [an emphasis on the 
word “ Master ”], will you be pleased to undo the door? What 
ails you? Are you at your prayers in private, to complete the 
devotion which you left unfinished in public? Surely we must 
1 Early English for “ called; ” named. 


68 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


have a screened seat 1 for you in the chapel, that your gentility 
may be free from the eyes of common folks ! ” Still no whisper 
was heard in reply. “ Well, Master Roland,” said the waiting 
maid, “ I must tell my mistress that if she would have an answer, 
she must either come herself, or send those on errand to you who 
can beat the door down.” 

“ What says your Lady? ” answered the page from within. 

“ Marry, open the door, and you shall hear,” answered the 
waiting maid. “ I trow 2 it becomes my Lady’s message to be 
listened to face to face ; and I will not, for your idle pleasure, 
whistle it through a keyhole.” 

‘‘Your mistress’s name,” said the page, opening the door, “is 
too fair a cover for your impertinence. What says my Lady? ” 

“ That you will be pleased to come to her direcfly, in the with- 
drawing-room ,” 3 answered Lilias. “ I presume she has some 
directions for you concerning the forms to be observed in leaving 
chapel in future.” 

“ Say to my Lady that I will directly wait on her,” answered 
the page ; and, returning into his apartment, he once more locked 
the door in the face of the waiting maid. 

“ Rare courtesy ! ” muttered Lilias, and, returning to her mis- 
tress, acquainted her that Roland Graeme would wait on her 
when it suited his convenience. 

“What! is that his addition, or your own phrase, Lilias? ” said 
the Lady coolly. 

“ Nay, madam,” replied the attendant, not directly answering 
the question, “ he looked as if he could have said much more 
impertinent things than that, if I had been willing to hear them. 
But here he comes to answer for himself.” 

Roland Graeme entered the apartment with a loftier mien and 

1 The places of the gentry were often secluded from the rest of the church 
by a carved screen. 

2 Trust; think. 

2 Original form of “ drawing-room ; ” a room used to retire into, usually be- 
hind that used for meals. 


THE ABBOT. 


69 

somewhat a higher color than his wont; there was embarrass- 
ment in his manner, but it was neither that of fear nor of peni- 
tence. 

“Young man,” said the Lady, “what trow you I am to think 
of your conduct this day? ” 

“ If it has offended you, madam, I am deeply grieved.” re- 
plied the youth. 

“To have offended me alone,” replied the Lady, “were but 
little. You have been guilty of conduct which will highly offend 
your master, — of violence to your fellow-servants, and of disre- 
spect to God himself, in the person of his ambassador.” 

“ Permit me again to reply,” said the page, “ that if I have 
offended my only mistress, friend, and benefactress, it includes 
the sum of my guilt, and deserves the sum of my penitence. Sir 
Halbert Glendinning calls me not servant, nor do I call him 
master ; he is not entitled to blame me for chastising an insolent 
groom. Nor do I fear the wrath of Heaven for treating with 
scorn the unauthorized interference of a meddling preacher.” 

The Lady of Avenel had before this seen symptoms in her 
favorite of boyish petulance, and of impatience of censure or 
reproof. But his present demeanor was of a graver and more 
determined character, and she was for a moment at a loss how 
she should treat the youth, who seemed to have at once assumed 
the character not only of a man, but of a bold and determined 
one. She paused an instant, and then, assuming the dignity 
which was natural to her, she said, “ Is it to me, Roland, that 
you hold this language? Is it for the purpose of making me 
repent the favor I have shown you, that you declare yourself in- 
dependent both of an earthly and a heavenly master? Have 
you forgotten what you were, and to what the loss of my pro- 
tection would speedily again reduce you? ” 

“ Lady,” said the page, “ I have forgot nothing, I remember 
but too much. I know that but for you I should have perished 
in yon blue waves,” pointing, as he spoke, to the lake, which 
was seen through the window, agitated by the western wind. 


7 ° 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Your goodness has gone farther, madam ; you have protected 
me against the malice of others, and against my own folly. You 
are free, if you are willing, to abandon the orphan you have 
reared. You have left nothing undone by him, and he complains 
of nothing. And yet, Lady, do not think 1 have been ungrateful. 
I have endured something on my part, which I would have borne 
for the sake of no one but my benefactress.” 

“ For my sake!” said the Lady. “And what is it that I can 
have subjected you to endure, which can be remembered with 
other feelings than those of thanks and gratitude? ” 

“You are too just, madam, to require me to be thankful for 
the cold neglect with which your husband has uniformly treated 
me, — neglect not unmingled with fixed aversion. You are too 
just, madam, to require me to be grateful for the constant and 
unceasing marks of scorn and malevolence with which I have 
been treated by others, or for such a homily as that with which 
your reverend chaplain has, at my expense, this very day regaled 
the assembled household.” 

“Heard mortal ears the like of this!” said the waiting maid, 
with her hands expanded, and her eyes turned up to heaven. 
“ He speaks as if he were son of an earl, or of a belted knight, 1 
the least penny! ” 2 

The page glanced on her a look of supreme contempt, but 
vouchsafed no other answer. His mistress, who began to feel 
herself seriously offended, and yet sorry for the youth’s folly, 
took up the same tone. 

“ Indeed, Roland, you forget yourself so strangely,” said she, 
“ that you will tempt me to take serious measures to lower you 
in your own opinion by reducing you to your proper station in 
society.” 

“ And that,” added Lilias, “ would be best done by turning 
him out the same beggar’s brat that your Ladyship took him in.” 

1 The girding on of the sword was part of the more solemn ceremony 
attending the making of a knight. 

2 “ The least penny,” i.e., at the least. 


THE ABBOT. 


7 


“ Lilias speaks too rudely,” continued the Lady, “ but she has 
spoken the truth, young man ; nor do I think I ought to spare 
that pride which hath so completely turned your head. You 
have been tricked up with fine garments, and treated like the son 
of a gentleman, until you have forgot the fountain of your churl- 
ish blood.” 

“ Craving your pardon, most honorable madam, Lilias hath 
not spoken truth, nor does your Ladyship know aught of my de- 
scent which should entitle you to treat it with such decided scorn. 
I am no beggar’s brat ; my grandmother begged from no one, 
here nor elsewhere ; she would have perished sooner on the 
bare moor. We were harried out and driven from our home, — 
a chance which has happed elsewhere, and to others. Avenel 
Castle, with its lake and its towers, was not at all times able to 
protect its inhabitants from want and desolation.” 

“Hear but his assurance !” said Lilias. “He upbraids my 
Lady with the distresses of her family ! ” 

“It had indeed been a theme more gratefully spared,” said the 
Lady, affected, nevertheless, with the allusion. 

“ It was necessary, madam, for my vindication,” said the page, 
“ or I had not even hinted at a word that might give you pain. 
But believe, honored Lady, I am of no churl’s blood. My proper 
descent I know not ; but my only relation has said, and my 
heart has echoed it back and attested the truth, that I am sprung 
of gentle blood, and deserve gentle usage.” 

“ And upon an assurance so vague as this,” said the Lady, “ do 
you propose to expect all the regard, all the privileges, befitting 
high rank and distinguished birth, and become a contender for 
concessions which are only due to the noble? Go to, sir, know 
yourself, or the master of the household shall make you know 
you are liable to the scourge as a malapert boy. You have 
tasted too little the discipline fit for your age and station.” 

“ The master of the household shall taste of my dagger ere I 
taste of his discipline,” said the page, giving way to his restrained 
passion. “ Lady, I have been too long the vassal of a pantoufle , 1 
1 A slipper. 


7 2 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


and the slave of a silver whistle. You must henceforth find some 
other to answer your call ; and let him be of birth and spirit 
mean enough to brook the scorn of your menials, and to call a 
church vassal his master.” 

“ I have deserved this insult,” said the Lady, coloring deeply, 
" for so long enduring and fostering your petulance. Begone, 
sir. Leave this castle to-night. I will send you the means of 
subsistence till you find some honest mode of support, though I 
fear your imaginary grandeur will be above all others, save those 
of rapine and violence. Begone, sir, and see my face no more.” 

The page threw himself at her feet in an agony of sorrow. 
“ My dear and honored mistress,” he said, but was unable to 
bring out another syllable. 

“ Arise, sir,” said the Lady, “ and let go my mantle. Hypoc- 
risy is a poor cloak for ingratitude.” 

“ I am incapable of either, madam,” said the page, springing 
up with a hasty start of passion which belonged to his rapid and 
impetuous temper. “ Think not I meant to implore permission 
to reside here; it has been long my determination to leave 
Avenel, and I will never forgive myself for having permitted you 
to say the word f begone 7 ere I said, ‘ I leave you.’ I did but 
kneel to ask your forgiveness for an ill-considered word used in 
the height of displeasure, but which ill became my mouth as ad- 
dressed to you. Other grace I asked not ; you have done much 
for me, but I repeat that you better know what you yourself 
have done, than what I have suffered.” 

“ Roland,” said the Lady, somewhat appeased, and relenting 
towards her favorite, “ you had me to appeal to when you were 
aggrieved. You were neither called upon to suffer wrong, nor 
entitled to resent it, when you were under my protection.” 

“ And what,” said the youth, “ if I sustained wrong from those 
you loved and favored ; was I to disturb your peace with idle 
tale-bearings and eternal complaints? No, madam; I have 
borne my own burden in silence, and without disturbing you with 
murmurs; and the respect which you accuse me of wanting 


THE ABBOT. 


73 


furnishes the only reason why I have neither appealed to you, 
nor taken vengeance at my own hand in a manner far more 
effectual. It is well, however, that we part. I was not born to 
be a stipendiary , 1 favored by his mistress until ruined by the 
calumnies of others. May Heaven multiply its choicest blessings 
on your honored head, and, for your sake, upon all that are dear 
to you!” 

He was about to leave the apartment, when the Lady called 
upon him to return. He stood still, while she thus addressed 
him : “ It was not my intention, nor would it be just, even in 
the height of my displeasure, to dismiss you without the means 
of support ; take this purse of gold.” 

“ Forgive me, Lady,” said the boy, “ and let me go hence with 
the consciousness that I have not been degraded to the point 
of accepting alms. If my poor services can be placed against 
the expense of my apparel and my maintenance, I only remain 
debtor to you for my life, and that alone is a debt which I can 
never repay. Put up then that purse, and only say, instead, that 
you do not part from me in anger.” 

“No, not in anger,” said the Lady; “in sorrow, rather, for 
your willfulness. But take the gold ; you cannot but need it.” 

“ May God evermore bless you for the kind tone and the kind 
word! But the gold I cannot take. I am able of body, and do 
not lack friends so wholly as you may think ; for the time may 
come that I may yet show myself more thankful than by mere 
words.” He threw himself on his knees, kissed the hand which 
she did not withdraw, and then hastily left the apartment. 

Lilias, for a moment or two, kept her eye fixed on her mis- 
tress, who looked so unusually pale that she seemed about to 
faint; but the Lady instantly recovered herself, and, declining 
the assistance which her attendant offered her, walked to her 
own apartment. 


1 One who receives a stipend, or salary. 


74 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


CHAPTER VI. 


PON the morrow succeeding the scene we have described, 



LJ the disgraced favorite left the castle ; and at breakfast time 
the cautious old steward and Mrs. Lilias sat in the apartment of 
the latter personage, holding grave converse on the important 
event of the day, sweetened by a small treat of comfits, to which 
the providence of Mr. Wingate had added a little flask of racy 


canary . 1 


“ He is gone at last,” said the abigail , 2 sipping her glass ; “ and 
here is to his good journey.” 

“ Amen,” answered the steward gravely. “ I wish the poor 
deserted lad no ill.” 

“ And he is gone like a wild duck, as he came,” continued Mrs. 
Lilias ; “no lowering of drawbridges, or pacing along causeways 
for him. My master has pushed off in the boat which they call 
the little Herod 3 (more shame to them for giving the name of a 
Christian to wood and iron), and has rowed himself by himself 
to the farther side of the loch, and off and away with himself, 
and left all his finery strewed about his room. I wonder who is 
to clean his trumpery out after him, though the things are worth 
lifting, too.” 

“ Doubtless, Mistress Lilias,” answered the master of the 
household ; “ in the which case, I am free to think they will not 
long cumber the floor.” 

“And now tell me, Master Wingate,” continued the damsel, 
“ do not the very cockles of your heart rejoice at the house being 
rid of this upstart whelp, that flung us all into shadow? ” 

“Why, Mistress Lilias,” replied Wingate, “as to rejoicing, — 

1 Wine made in the Canary Islands. 

2 A name generally applied to waiting maids. 

3 With unconscious irony, Lilias supposes the boat to be named after 
Herod, the Jewish king who sought Christ to destroy him. It was more 
probably named for the herons, which in Greek and Latin were herodii. 


THE ABBOT. 


75 


those who have lived as long in great families as has been my 
lot, will be in no hurry to rejoice at anything. And for Roland 
Graeme, though he may be a good riddance in the main, yet 
what says the very sooth 1 proverb : ‘ Seldom comes a better.’ ” 

“ Seldom comes a better, indeed ! ” echoed Mrs. Lilias. “ I say, 
never can come a worse, or one half so bad. He might have 
been the ruin of our poor dear mistress [here she used her ker- 
chief], body and soul, and estate too ; for she spent more coin 
on his apparel than on any four servants about the house.” 

“ Mistress Lilias,” said the sage steward, “ I do opine that our 
mistress requireth not this pity at your hands, being in all re- 
spects competent to take care of her own body, soul, and estate 
into the bargain.” 

“You would not mayhap have said so,” answered the waiting 
woman, “ had you seen how like Lot’s wife 2 she looked when 
young master took his leave. My mistress is a good lady, and 
a virtuous, and a well-doing lady, and a well-spoken-of ; but I 
would not Sir Halbert had seen her last evening for two and a 
plack.” 3 

“Oh, foy! foy ! foy !” 4 reiterated the steward; “servants 
should hear and see, and say nothing. Besides that, my Lady is 
utterly devoted to Sir Halbert, as well she may, being, as he is, 
the most renowned knight in these parts.” 

“Well, well,” said the abigail, “I mean no more harm. But 
they that seek least renown abroad are most apt to find quiet at 
home, that’s all ; and my Lady’s lonesome situation is to be con- 
sidered, that made her fain to take up with the first beggar’s brat 
that a dog brought her out of the loch.” 

“And therefore,” said the steward, “I say, rejoice not too 
much, or too hastily, Mistress Lilias ; for if your Lady wished a 

1 True. 2 See Gen. xix. 26. 

3 “ Two and a plack,” i.e., Scotch sixpence. A plack was a small Scot- 
tish coin, equal to about two thirds of an English halfpenny, or fourpence 

Scotch. 

4 French foi (“ faith ”). Here used probably for “ fie! ” 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


76 

favorite to pass away the time, depend upon it, the time will not 
pass lighter now that he is gone. So she will have another 
favorite to choose for herself ; and be assured, if she wishes such 
a toy, she will not lack one.” 

“ And where should she choose one but among her own tried 
and faithful servants,” said Mrs. Lilias, “ who have broken her 
bread, and drunk her drink, for so many years? I have known 
many a lady as high as she is, that never thought either of a 
friend or favorite beyond their own waiting woman ; always 
having a proper respect, at the same time, for their old and 
faithful master of the household, Master Wingate.” 

“Truly, Mistress Lilias,” replied the steward, “I do partly 
see the mark at which you shoot, but I doubt your bolt will fall 
short. Matters being with our Lady as it likes 1 you to suppose, 
it will neither be your crimped pinners , 2 Mrs. Lilias (speaking of 
them with due respect), nor my silver hair, or golden chain, that 
will fill up the void which Roland Graeme must needs leave in 
our Lady’s leisure. There will be a learned young divine with 
some new doctrine ; a learned leech with some new drug ; a 
bold cavalier, who will not be refused the favor of wearing her 
colors at a running at the ring ; 3 a cunning harper that could 
harp the heart out of woman’s breast, as they say Signor David 
Rizzio 4 did to our poor Queen ; — these are the sort of folk who 
supply the loss of a well-favored favorite, and not an old steward, 
or a middle-aged waiting woman.” 

“ Well,” replied Lilias, “ you have experience, Master Wingate, 
and truly I would my master would leave off his pricking hither 
and thither, and look better after the affairs of his household. 
There will be a papistrie 5 among us next, for what should I see 

1 Pleases. 2 A woman’s headdress with long flaps. 

3 “ Running,” etc., i.e., an exercise in the sixteenth century, which largely 
replaced the tilts of knights against each other. A horseman riding with 
lance in rest tried to carry off a ring suspended at a height. 

4 See Introduction. 

5 Popery ; a contemptuous term for the system, doctrines, and ceremonies 
of the Church of Rome. 


THE ABBOT. 


77 


among master’s clothes but a string of gold beads? 1 I promise 
you, aves 2 and credos 3 both! I seized on them like a falcon.” 

“ I doubt it not, I doubt it not,” said the steward, sagaciously 
nodding his head. “ I have often noticed that the boy had strange 
observances which savored of popery, and that he was very jeal- 
ous to conceal them. But you will find the Catholic under the 
Presbyterian cloak as often as the knave under the friar’s hood ; 
what then? we are all mortal. Right proper beads they are,” 
he added, looking attentively at them, “and may weigh four 
ounces of fine gold.” 

“ And I will have them melted down presently,” she said, “ be- 
fore they be the misguiding of some poor blinded soul.” 

“Very cautious, indeed, Mistress Lilias,” said the steward, 
nodding his head in assent. 

“ I will have them made,” said Mrs. Lilias, “ into a pair of 
shoe buckles. I would not wear the Pope’s trinkets, or whatever 
has once borne the shape of them, one inch above my instep, 
were they diamonds instead of gold. But this is what has come 
of Father Ambrose hanging about the castle, as demure as a cat 
that is about to steal cream.” 

“ Father Ambrose is our master’s brother,” said the steward 
gravely. 

“Very true, Master Wingate,” answered the dame; “but is 
that a good reason why he should pervert the King’s liege sub- 
jects to papistrie? ” 

“H eaven forbid, Mistress Lilias,” answered the sententious 
major-domo ; “ but yet there are worse folk than the Papists.” 

“ I wonder where they are to be found,” said the waiting 
woman with some asperity. “ But I believe, Master Wingate, if 


1 The rosary, made up of beads of different sizes, for which different 
prayers were said. 

2 The aye, so called from its first words, Ave Maria (“ Hail, Mary!”), is 
a prayer to the Virgin, known as the “Angelic Salutation.” 

3 The Creed ; so called from the first word of the Latin version, Credo 
(“ I believe ”). 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


78 

one were to speak to you about the Devil himself, you would say 
there were jvorse people than Satan.” 

“ Assuredly I might say so,” replied the steward, “ supposing 
that I saw Satan standing at my elbow.” 

The waiting woman started, and, having exclaimed, “ God bless 
us!” added, “ I wonder, Master Wingate, you can take pleasure 
in frightening one thus.” 

“Nay, Mistress Lilias, I had no such purpose,” was the reply. 
“ But look you here : the Papists are but put down for the present, 
but who knows how long this word ‘ present ’ will last? There are 
two great Popish earls in the north of England, that abominate 
the very word ‘reformation; ’ I mean the Northumberland 1 and 
Westmoreland 2 earls, men of power enough to shake any throne 
in Christendom. Then, though our Scottish King 3 be, God bless 
him, a true Protestant, yet he is but a boy ; and here is his 
mother that was our queen — I trust there is no harm to say, 
God bless her, too — and she is a Catholic, and many begin to 
think she has had but hard measure ; such as the Hamiltons 4 in 
the west, and some of our Border clans here, and the Gordons 5 
in the north, who are all wishing to see a new world ; 6 and if 
such a new world should chance to come up, it is like that the 
Queen will take back her own crown, and that the mass and the 
cross will come up, and then down go pulpits, Geneva gowns , 7 
and black silk skullcaps.” 

“And have you, Master Jasper Wingate, who have heard the 
Word, and listened unto pure and precious Mr. Henry Warden, 

1 The northernmost county of England. 

2 A county in the northwestern part of England, south of Cumberland. 

3 James VI. 

4 A noble house of the southwest of Scotland, connected with the royal 
family ; founded by an English knight who fled to Scotland after a duel, and 
became a favorite of Robert Bruce. 

5 An ancient ducal house, with possessions in Aberdeenshire. 

6 A revolution. 

7 A loose, full-sleeved gown, worn in preaching by the Geneva reformers, 
or the followers of Calvin who first established his doctrines in Geneva. 


THE ABBOT 


79 

have you, I say, the patience to speak, or but to think, of popery 
coming down on us like a storm, or of the woman Mary again 
making the royal seat of Scotland a throne of abomination? No 
marvel that you are so civil to the cowled monk, Father Am- 
brose, when he comes hither with his downcast eyes that he never 
raises to my Lady’s face, and with his low sweet-ton6d voice, and 
his benedicites, and his benisons ; and who so ready to take them 
kindly as Master Wingate? ” 

“ Mistress Lilias,” replied the butler with an air which was in- 
tended to close the debate, “ there are reasons for all things. If 
I received Father Ambrose debonairly, and suffered him to steal 
a word now and then with this same Roland Graeme, it was not 
that I cared a brass bodle for his benison or malison either, but 
only because I respected my master’s blood. And who can an- 
swer, if Mary come in again, whether he may not be as stout a 
tree to lean to as ever his brother hath proved to us? For down 
goes the Earl of Murray when the Queen comes by her own 
again ; and good is his luck if he can keep the head on his own 
shoulders. And down goes our Knight, with the Earl, his patron ; 
and who so like to mount into his empty saddle as this same 
Father Ambrose? The Pope of Rome can soon dispense with 
his vows, and then we should have Sir Edward the soldier, in- 
stead of Ambrose the priest.” 

Anger and astonishment kept Mrs. Lilias silent while her old 
friend, in his self-complacent manner, was making known to her 
his political speculations. At length her resentment found utter- 
ance in words of great ire and scorn. “ What, Master Wingate! 
have you eaten my mistress’s bread — to say nothing of my mas- 
ter’s — so many years, that you could live to think of her being 
dispossessed of her own Castle of Avenel by a wretched monk, 
who is not a drop’s blood to her in the way of relation? I, that 
am but a woman*, would try first whether my rock 1 or his cowl 
was the better metal. Shame on you, Master Wingate! If I 
had not held you as so old an acquaintance, this should have 
1 See Note 3, p. 43. 


8o 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


gone to my Lady’s ears though I had been called pickthank 1 and 
tale-pyet 2 for my pains, as when I told of Roland Grseme shoot- 
ing the wild swan.” 

Master Wingate was somewhat dismayed at perceiving that 
the details which he had given of his farsighted political views 
had produced on his hearer rather suspicion of his fidelity than 
admiration of his wisdom, and endeavored, as hastily as possible, 
to apologize and to explain, although internally extremely offended 
at the unreasonable view, as he deemed it, which it had pleased 
Mrs. Lilias Bradbourne to take of his expressions, and mentally 
convinced that her disapprobation of his sentiments arose solely 
out of the consideration that though Father Ambrose, supposing 
him to become the master of the castle, would certainly require 
the services of a steward, yet those of a waiting woman would, 
in the supposed circumstances, be altogether superfluous. 

After his explanation had been received as explanations usu- 
ally are, the two friends separated ; Lilias to attend the silver 
whistle which called her to her mistress’s chamber, and the 
sapient major-domo to the duties of his own department. They 
parted with less than their usual degree of reverence and regard ; 
for the steward felt that his worldly wisdom was rebuked by the 
more disinterested attachment of the waiting woman, and Mis- 
tress Lilias Bradbourne was compelled to consider her old friend 
as something little better than a time-server. 3 


CHAPTER VII. 

W HILE the departure of the page afforded subject for the 
conversation which we have detailed in our last chapter, 
the late favorite was far advanced on his solitary journey, with- 
out well knowing what was its object, or what was likely to be 

1 Flatterer. 2 A telltale ; a pyet is a magpie. 

3 One who adapts his opinions and manners to the times. 


THE ABBOT 


8 1 


its end. He had rowed the skiff in which he left the castle to 
the side of the lake most distant from the village, with the desire 
of escaping from the notice of the inhabitants. His pride whis- 
pered that he would be, in his discarded state, only the subject 
of their wonder and compassion ; and his generosity told him 
that any mark of sympathy which his situation should excite 
might be unfavorably reported at the castle. A trifling incident 
convinced him he had little to fear for his friends on the latter 
score. He was met by a young man some years older than 
himself, who had on former occasions been but too happy to be 
permitted to share in his sports in the subordinate character of 
his assistant. Ralph Fisher approached to greet him with all the 
alacrity of an humble friend. 

“What, Master Roland, abroad on this side, and without 
either hawk or hound? ” 

“ Hawk or hound,” said Roland, “ I will never perhaps hollo to 
again. I have been dismissed — that is, I have left the castle.” 

Ralph was surprised. “What! you are to pass into the 
Knight’s service, and take the black jack 1 and the lance?” 

“ Indeed,” replied Roland Graeme, “ I am not. I am now 
leaving the service of Avenel forever.” 

“And whither are you going, then? ” said the young peasant. 

“ Nay, that is a question which it craves time to answer ; I have 
that matter to determine yet,” replied the disgraced favorite. 

“ Nay, nay,” said Ralph, “ I warrant you it is the same to you 
which way you go ; my Lady would not dismiss you till she had 
put some lining into the pouches of your doublet.” 

“Sordid slave!” said Roland Graeme. “Dost thou think I 
would have accepted a boon from one who was giving me over 
a prey to detraction and to ruin, at the instigation of a canting 
priest and a meddling serving woman? The bread that' I had 
bought with such an alms would have choked me at the first 
mouthful.” 

Ralph looked at his quondam 2 friend with an air of wonder 
1 A doublet quilted with iron. 


6 


2 Former. 


82 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


not unmixed with contempt. “Well,” he said at length, “no 
occasion for passion ; each man knows his own stomach best ; 
but were I on a black moor at this time of day, not knowing 
whither I was going, I should be glad to have a broad piece 1 or 
two in my pouch, come by them as I could. But perhaps you 
will go with me to my father’s, — that is, for a night, for to-mor- 
row we expect my uncle Menelaus and his folk ; but, as I said, 
for one night ” — 

The cold-blooded limitation of the offered shelter to one night 
only, and that tendered most unwillingly, offended the pride of 
the discarded favorite. 

“ I would rather sleep on the fresh heather, as I have done 
many a night on less occasion,” said Roland Grseme, “ than in 
the smoky garret of your father, that smells of peat 2 smoke and 
usquebaugh 3 like a Highlander’s plaid.” 4 

“You may choose, my master, if you are so nice,” replied 
Ralph Fisher. “ You may be glad to smell a peat fire, and usque- 
baugh too, if you journey long in the fashion you propose. You 
might have said God-a-mercy 5 for your proffer, though ; it is not 
every one will put themselves in the way of ill will by harboring 
a discarded serving man.” 

“ Ralph,” said Roland Graeme, “ I would pray you to remem- 
ber that I have switched you before now, and this is the same 
riding wand which you have tasted.” 

Ralph, who was a thickset, clownish figure, arrived at his full 
strength, and, conscious of the most complete personal superior- 
ity, laughed contemptuously at the threats of the slight-made 
stripling. 

1 “ Broad piece,” i.e., a large coin. 

2 Partly decomposed vegetable matter found in bogs, and used as fuel 
when dried. 

3 Distilled spirits made out of barley by the Celtic Highlanders and Irish; 
hence, malt whisky. 

4 The strip of tartan or plaided cloth worn by the Celtic people of the 
mountainous districts of Scotland. 

5 God have mercy : here, God reward you ; thank you. 


THE ABBOT 


83 

“ It may be the same wand,” he said, “ but not the same hand ; 
and that is as good rhyme as if it were in a ballad. Look you, 
my Lady’s page that was, when your switch was up, it was no 
fear of you, but of your betters, that kept mine down ; and I 
wot not what hinders me from clearing old scores with this hazel 
rung, and showing you it was your Lady’s livery coat which I 
spared, and not your flesh and blood, Master Roland.” 

In the midst of his rage, Roland Graeme was just wise enough 
to see that by continuing this altercation he would subject him- 
self to very rude treatment from the boor, who was so much 
older and stronger than himself ; and while his antagonist, with 
a sort of jeering laugh of defiance, seemed to provoke the con- 
test, he felt the full bitterness of his own degraded condition, and 
burst into a passion of tears, which he in vain endeavored to 
conceal with both his hands. 

Even the rough churl was moved with the distress of his 
quondam companion. 

“ Nay, Master Roland,” he said, “ I did but as ’twere jest with 
thee ; I would not harm thee, man, were it but for old acquaint- 
ance’ sake. But ever look to a man’s inches ere you talk of 
switching ; why, thine arm, man, is but like a spindle compared 
to mine. But hark, I hear old Adam Woodcock hollowing to 
his hawk. Come along, man, we will have a merry afternoon, 
and go jollily to my father’s, in spite of the peat smoke and 
usquebaugh to boot. Maybe we may put you into some honest 
way of winning your bread, though it’s hard to come by in these 
broken times.” 

The unfortunate page made no answer, nor did he withdraw 
his hands from his face, and Fisher continued in what he im- 
agined a suitable tone of comfort. 

“ Why, man, when you were my Lady’s minion, men held you 
proud, and some thought you a Papist, and I wot not what ; and 
so, now that you have no one to bear you out, you must be com- 
panionable and hearty, and wait on the minister’s examinations, 
and put these things out of folks’ head ; and if he says you are 


8 4 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


in fault, you must jouk 1 your head to the stream ; and if a gen- 
tleman, or a gentleman’s gentleman , 2 give you a rough word, or 
a light blow, you must only say, ‘Thank you for dusting my 
doublet,’ or the like, as I have done by you. But hark to Wood- 
cock’s whistle again. Come, and I will teach you all the trick 
on’t as we go on.” 

“ I thank you,” said Roland Grseme, endeavoring to assume 
an air of indifference and of superiority; “but I have another 
path before me, and, were it otherwise, I could not tread in 
yours.” 

“Very true, Master Roland,” replied the clown; “and every 
man knows his own matters best, and so I will not keep you 
from the path, as you say. Give us a grip of your hand, man, 
for auld lang syne . 3 — What! not clap palms ere we part? Well, 
so be it ; a willful man will have his way, and so farewell, and 
the blessing of the morning to you.” 

“ Good-morrow — good-morrow,” said Roland hastily, and the 
clown walked lightly off, whistling as he went, and glad, appar- 
ently, to be rid of an acquaintance whose claims might be trou- 
blesome, and who had no longer the means to be serviceable to 
him. 

Roland Graeme compelled himself to walk on while they were 
within sight of each other, that his former intimate might not 
augur any vacillation of purpose, or uncertainty of object, from 
his remaining on the same spot; but the effort was a painful 
one. He seemed stunned, as it were, and giddy ; the earth on 
which he stood felt as if unsound, and quaking under his feet 
like the surface of a bog ; and he had once or twice nearly fallen, 
though the path he trod was of firm greensward. He kept reso- 
lutely moving forward, in spite of the internal agitation to which 
these symptoms belonged, until the distant form of his acquaint- 
ance disappeared behind the slope of a hill, when his heart failed 
at once ; and sitting down on the turf, remote from human ken , 4 

2 A valet. 

4 Knowledge or sight. 


1 Shift or incline. 
3 Good old times. 


THE ABBOT. 


85 

lie gave way to the natural expressions of wounded pride, grief, 
and fear, and wept with unrestrained profusion and unqualified 
bitterness. 

When the first violent paroxysm of his feelings had subsided, 
the deserted and friendless youth felt that mental relief which 
usually follows such discharges of sorrow. The tears continued 
to chase each other down his cheeks, but they were no longer 
accompanied by the same sense of desolation ; an afflicting yet 
milder sentiment was awakened in his mind by the recollection 
of his benefactress, of the unwearied kindness which had attached 
her to him, in spite of many acts of provoking petulance now 
recollected as offenses of a deep dye, which had protected him 
against the machinations of others, as well as against the conse- 
quences of his own folly, and would have continued to do so, 
had not the excess of his presumption compelled her to withdraw 
her protection. 

“ Whatever indignity I have borne,” he said, “ has been the 
just reward of my own ingratitude. And have I done well to 
accept the hospitality, the more than maternal kindness, of my 
protectress, yet to detain from her the knowledge of my religion? 
But she shall know that a Catholic has as much gratitude as a 
Puritan ; 1 that I have been thoughtless, but not wicked ; that in 
my wildest moments I have loved, respected, and honored her ; 
and that the orphan boy might indeed be heedless, but was never 
ungrateful ! ” 

He turned as these thoughts passed through his mind, and 
began hastily to retread his footsteps towards the castle. But 
he checked the first eagerness of his repentant haste when he 
reflected on the scorn and contempt with which the family were 
likely to see the return of the fugitive, humbled, as they must 
necessarily suppose him, into a supplicant, who requested pardon 
for his fault, and permission to return to his service. He slack- 
ened his pace, but he stood not still. 

1 A Protestant, especially those of the more rigid sects as distinguished 
from those of the Church of England. 


86 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


“ I care not,” he resolutely determined ; “ let them talk, point, 
nod, sneer, speak of the conceit which is humbled, of the pride 
which has had a fall, — I care not ; it is a penance due to my 
folly, and I will endure it with patience. But if she also, my 
benefactress, if she also should think me sordid and weak-spirited 
enough to beg, not for her pardon alone, but for a renewal of the 
advantages which I derived from her favor, — her suspicion of 
my meanness I can not, I will not brook.” 

He stood still, and his pride, rallying with constitutional obsti- 
nacy against his more just feeling, urged that he would incur the 
scorn of the Lady of Avenel, rather than obtain her favor, by 
following the course which the first ardor of his repentant feelings 
had dictated to him. 

“ If I had but some plausible pretext,” he thought, “ some 
ostensible reason for my return, some excuse to allege which 
might show I came not as a degraded supplicant, or a discarded 
menial, I might go thither; but as I am I cannot, — my heart 
would leap from its place and burst.” 

As these thoughts swept through his mind, something passed 
in the air so near him as to dazzle his eyes, and almost to brush 
the plume in his cap. He looked up ; it was the favorite falcon 
of Sir Halbert, which, flying around his head, seemed to claim 
his attention as that of a well-known friend. Roland extended 
his arm, and gave the accustomed whoop, and the falcon in- 
stantly settled on his wrist, and began to prune 1 itself, glancing 
at the youth from time to time an acute and brilliant beam of its 
hazel eye, which seemed to ask why he caressed it not with his 
usual fondness. 

“ Ah, Diamond ! ” he said, as if the bird understood him, “ thou 
and I must be strangers henceforward. Many a gallant stoop 2 
have I seen thee make, and many a brave heron strike down ; 
but that is all gone and over, and there is no hawking more for 
me!” 

1 To preen ; i.e., to smooth its feathers. 

2 Swoop, as of a bird upon its prey. 


THE ABBOT. 


87 

“And why not, Master Roland,” said Adam Woodcock the 
falconer, who came at that instant from behind a few alder 
bushes which had concealed him from view, “ why should there 
be no more hawking for you? Why, man, what were our life 
without our sports? Thou know’st the jolly old song, — 

“ i And rather would Allan in dungeon lie, 

Than live at large where the falcon cannot fly ; 

And Allan would rather lie in Sexton’s pound, 

Than live where he follow’d not the merry hawk and hound.’ ” 

The voice of the falconer was hearty and friendly, and the 
tone in which he half sung, half recited his rude ballad implied 
honest frankness and cordiality. But remembrance of their quar- 
rel, and its consequences, embarrassed Roland, and prevented 
his reply. The falconer saw his hesitation, and guessed the cause. 

“ What now,” said he, “ Master Roland? Do you, who are half 
an Englishman, think that I, who am a whole one, would keep 
up anger against you, and you in distress? That were like some 
of the Scots (my master’s reverence always excepted), who can 
be fair and false, and wait their time, and keep their mind, as 
they say, to themselves, and touch pot and flagon with you, and 
hunt and hawk with you, and, after all, when time serves, pay off 
some old feud with the point of the dagger. Canny 1 Yorkshire 
has no memory for such old sores. Why, man, an you had hit 
me a rough blow, maybe I would rather have taken it from you 
than a rough word from another, for you have a good notion of 
falconry, though you stand up for washing the meat for the 
eyases. So give us your hand, man, and bear no malice.” 

Roland, though he felt his proud blood rebel at the familiarity 
of honest Adam’s address, could not resist its downright frank- 
ness. Covering his face with the one hand, he held out the other 
to the falconer, and returned with readiness his friendly grasp. 

“ Why, this is hearty, now,” said Woodcock. “ I always said 
you had a kind heart, though you have a spice of the devil in 

1 Here, good-natured ; may mean also, artful, lucky, skilled in magic. 


88 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


your disposition, that is certain. I came this way with the falcon 
on purpose to find you, and yon half-bred lubbard told me which 
way you took flight. You ever thought too much of that kestril- 
kite , 1 Master Roland, and he knows naught of sport, after all, but 
what he caught from you. I saw how it had been betwixt you, 
and I sent him out of my company with a wanion . 2 I would 
rather have a rifler 3 on my perch than a false knave at my elbow. 
And now, Master Roland, tell me what way wing ye? ” 

“ That is as God pleases,” replied the page with a sigh which 
he could not suppress. 

“ Nay, man, never droop a feather for being cast off,” said the 
falconer. “ Who knows but you may soar the better and fairer 
flight for all this yet? Look at Diamond there ; ’tis a noble bird, 
and shows gallantly with his hood and bells and jesses ; 4 but 
there is many a wild falcon in Norway that would not change 
properties with him. And that is what I would say of you. You 
are no longer my Lady’s page, and you will not clothe so fair, or 
feed so well, or sleep so soft, or show so gallant. What of all 
that? If you are not her page, you are your own man, and may 
go where you will, without minding whoop or whistle. The 
worst is the loss of the sport, but who knows what you may 
come to? They say that Sir Halbert himself — I speak with 
reverence — was once glad to be the Abbot’s forester, and now 
he has hounds and hawks of his own, and Adam Woodcock for 
a falconer to the boot .” 5 

“You are right, and say well, Adam,” answered the youth, the 
blood mantling in his cheeks ; “ the falcon will soar higher with- 
out his bells than with them, though the bells be made of silver.” 

“ That is cheerily spoken,” replied the falconer. “ And whither 
now? ” 

1 A small, ignoble hawk ; hence, a term of contempt for Ralph Fisher. 

2 A vengeance or a misfortune. 

3 A hawk that does not return to the lure or decoy. 

4 Strips of leather fastened to the talons of a hawk, by which it was bound 

to the wrist. 5 “ To the boot,” i.e., to boot; in addition. 


THE ABBOT. 89 

“ I thought of going to the Abbey of Kennaquhair,” answered 
Roland Graeme, “to ask the counsel of Father Ambrose.” 

“ And joy go with you,” said the falconer, “ though it is likely 
you may find the old monks in some sorrow. They say the 
commons 1 are threatening to turn them out of their cells, and 
make a devil’s mass 2 of it in the old church, thinking they have 
forborne that sport too long ; and troth 3 I am clear of the same 
opinion.” 

“ Then will Father Ambrose be the better of having a friend 
beside him,” said the page manfully. 

Ay, but, my young fearnaught,” replied the falconer, “ the 
friend will scarce be the better of being beside Father Ambrose ; 
he may come by the redder’s lick , 4 and that is ever the worst 
of the battle.” 

“ I care not for that,” said the page ; “ the dread of a lick 
should not hold me back ; but I fear I may bring trouble between 
the brothers by visiting Father Ambrose. I will tarry to-night 
at St. Cuthbert’s 5 cell, where the old priest will give me a night’s 
shelter; and I will send to Father Ambrose to ask his advice 
before I go down to the convent.” 

“ By Our Lady,” 6 said the falconer, “and that is a likely plan. 
And now,” he continued, exchanging his frankness of manner for 
a sort of awkward embarrassment, as if he had somewhat to say 
that he had no ready means to bring out, “ and now you wot 
well that I wear a pouch for my hawk’s meat, and so forth ; but 
wot you what it is lined with, Master Roland? ” 

“ With leather, to be sure,” replied Roland, somewhat surprised 
at the hesitation with which Adam Woodcock asked a question 
apparently so simple. 

1 Common people. 

2 A service in worship of the Devil ; hence, licentious festivity. 

3 Truth. 4 A blow proverbially received by the redder, or peacemaker. 

5 St. Cuthbert, called the “Apostle of the Lowlands,” was born in south- 
eastern Scotland, and went from Melrose through Northumbria as a wander- 
ing missionary of the Irish Church. He became in old age Bishop of Lindis- 
farne, and died in 685. 6 The Virgin Mary. 


9 ° 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“With leather, lad? ” said Woodcock. “Ay, and with silver 
to the boot of that. See here,” he said, showing a secret slit in 
the lining of his bag of office, “here they are, thirty good Harry 
groats 1 as ever were struck in bluff old Hal’s time, and ten of 
them are right heartily at your service ; and now the murder is 
out.” 

Roland’s first idea was to refuse his assistance ; but he recol- 
lected the vows of humility which he had just taken upon him, 
and it occurred that this was the opportunity to put his new- 
formed resolution to the test. Assuming a strong command of 
himself, he answered Adam Woodcock with as much frankness 
as his nature permitted him to wear in doing what was so contrary 
to his inclinations, that he accepted thankfully of his kind offer, 
while, to soothe his own reviving pride, he could not help adding 
that he hoped soon to requite the obligation. 

“ That as you list, that as you list, young man,” said the fal- 
coner with glee, counting out and delivering to his young friend 
the supply he had so generously offered, and then adding with 
great cheerfulness, “Now, you may go through the world; for 
he that can back a horse, wind a horn, hollow a greyhound, fly 
a hawk, and play at sword and buckler, with a whole pair of 
shoes, a green jacket, and ten lily-white groats in his pouch, may 
bid Father Care hang himself in his own jesses. Farewell, and 
God be with you ! ” 

So saying, and as if desirous to avoid the thanks of his com- 
panion, he turned hastily round, and left Roland Graeme to pur- 
sue his journey alone. 

1 Groats coined in the reign of Henry VIII., King of England (1509-47), 
called " Bluff King Hal.” 


THE ABBOT. 


9 1 


CHAPTER VIII. 

T HE cell of St. Cuthbert, as it was called, marked, or was 
supposed to mark, one of those resting places which that 
venerable saint was pleased to assign to his monks when his 
convent, being driven from Lindisfern 1 by the Danes, became 
a peripatetic society of religionists, and, bearing their patron’s 
body on their shoulders, transported him from place to place 
through Scotland and the borders of England, until he was 
pleased at length to spare them the pain of carrying him farther, 
and to choose his ultimate place of rest in the lordly towers 
of Durham . 2 The odor of his sanctity remained behind him at 
each place where he had granted the monks a transient respite 
from their labors; and proud were those who could assign, 
as his temporary resting place, any spot within their vicinity. 
There were few cells more celebrated and honored than that of 
St. Cuthbert, to which Roland Graeme now bent his way, situated 
considerably to the northwest of the great Abbey of Kennaquhair, 
on which it was dependent. In the neighborhood were some 
of those recommendations which weighed with the experienced 
priesthood of Rome in choosing their sites for places of religion. 

There was a well possessed of some medicinal qualities, which, 
of course, claimed the saint for its guardian and patron, and 
occasionally produced some advantage to the recluse who inhab- 
ited his cell, since none could reasonably expect to benefit by the 
fountain, who did not extend their bounty to the saint’s chaplain. 
A few roods of fertile land afforded the monk his plot of garden 

1 Lindisfarne, or Holy Isle, an island off the east coast of Northumbria, 
in which missionaries from Iona, the monastery founded by Columba on 
the west coast of Scotland, established a monastery, which from early in the 
seventh, to early in the eighth, century was the center of Christianity in Great 
Britain. 

2 A town and cathedral in Berwickshire, England, near the Scottish Bor- 
der. St. Cuthbert’s tomb is shown behind the high altar of the cathedral. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


9 2 

ground ; an eminence well clothed with trees rose behind the 
cell, and sheltered it from the north and the east, while the front, 
opening to the southwest, looked up a wild but pleasant valley, 
down which wandered a lively brook, which battled with every 
stone that interrupted its passage. 

The cell itself was rather plainly than rudely constructed; 
a low Gothic 1 building with two small apartments, one of which 
served the priest for his dwelling place, the other for his chapel. 
As there were few of the secular clergy 2 who durst venture to 
reside so near the Border, the assistance of this monk in spiritual 
affairs had not been useless to the community while the Catholic 
religion retained the ascendency, as he could marry, christen, 
and administer the other sacraments of the Roman Church. Of 
late, however, as the Protestant doctrines gained ground, he had 
found it convenient to live in close retirement, and to avoid, as 
much as possible, drawing upon himself observation or animad- 
version. The appearance of his habitation, however, when Roland 
Graeme came before it in the close of the evening, plainly showed 
that his caution had been finally ineffectual. 

The page’s first movement was to knock at the door, when he 
observed, to his surprise, that it was open, not from being left 
unlatched, but because, beat off its upper hinge, it was only 
fastened to the doorpost by the lower, and could therefore no 
longer perform its functions. Somewhat alarmed at this, and 
receiving no answer when he knocked and called, Roland began 
to look more at leisure upon the exterior of the little dwelling 
before he ventured to enter it. The flowers, which had been 
trained with care against the walls, seemed to have been recently 
torn down, and trailed their dishonored garlands on the earth ; the 
latticed window was broken and dashed in. The garden, which 
the monk had maintained by his constant labor in the highest 

1 The name applied to the various types of architecture characterized by 
the pointed arch, which were prevalent in the middle ages. 

2 “ Secular clergy,” i.e., those who lived in the world rather than in 
monasteries or hermitages. 


THE ABBOT. 


93 


order and beauty, bore marks of having been lately trodden 
down and destroyed by the hoofs of animals and the feet of 
men. , 

The sainted spring had not escaped. It was wont to rise 
beneath a canopy of ribbed arches, with which the devotion of 
elder times had secured and protected its healing waters. These 
arches were now almost entirely demolished, and the stones of 
which they were built were tumbled into the well, as if for the 
purpose of choking up and destroying the fountain, which, as it 
had shared in other days the honor of the saint, was in the 
present doomed to partake his unpopularity. Part of the roof 
had been pulled down from the house itself, and an attempt had 
been made with crows and levers upon one of the angles, by 
which several large comer stones had been forced out of their 
place ; but the solidity of ancient mason work had proved too 
great for the time or patience of the assailants, and they had 
relinquished their task of destruction. Such dilapidated build- 
ings, after the lapse of years, during which nature has gradually 
covered the effects of violence with creeping plants and with 
weather stains, exhibit, amid their decay, a melancholy beauty. 
But when the visible effects of violence appear raw and recent, 
there is no feeling to mitigate the sense of devastation with which 
they impress the spectators; and such was now the scene on 
which the youthful page gazed with the painful feelings it was 
qualified to excite. 

When his first momentary surprise was over, Roland Graeme 
was at no loss to conjecture the cause of these ravages. The 
destruction of the Popish edifices did not take place at once 
throughout Scotland, but at different times, and according to the 
spirit which actuated the reformed clergy, some of whom insti- 
gated their hearers to these acts of demolition, and others, with 
better taste and feeling, endeavored to protect the ancient shrines, 
while they desired to see them purified from the objects which 
had attracted idolatrous devotion. From time to time, therefore, 
the populace of the Scottish towns and villages, when instigated 


94 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


either by their own feelings of abhorrence for Popish superstition, 
or by the doctrines of the more zealous preachers, resumed the 
work of destruction, and exercised it upon some sequestered 
church, chapel, or cell which had escaped the first burst of their 
indignation against the religion of Rome. In many places, the 
vices of the Catholic clergy, arising out of the wealth and the 
corruption of that tremendous hierarchy, furnished too good an 
apology for wreaking vengeance upon the splendid edifices which 
they inhabited ; and of this an old Scottish historian gives a 
remarkable instance. 

“ Why mourn ye,” said an aged matron, seeing the discontent 
of some of the citizens, while a stately convent was burnt by the 
multitude, “ why mourn ye for its destruction? If you knew half 
the flagitious wickedness which has been perpetrated within that 
house, you would rather bless the divine Judgment which per- 
mits not even the senseless walls, that screened such profligacy, 
any longer to cumber Christian ground.” 

But although, in many instances, the destruction of the Roman 
Catholic buildings might be, in the matron’s way of judging, an 
act of justice, and in others’ an act of policy, there is no doubt 
that the humor of demolishing monuments of ancient piety and 
munificence, and that in a poor country like Scotland, where there 
was no chance of their being replaced, was both useless, mis- 
chievous, and barbarous. 

In the present instance, the unpretending and quiet seclusion 
of the monk of St. Cuthbert’s had hitherto saved him from the 
general wreck ; but it would seem ruin had now at length reached 
him. Anxious to discover if he had at least escaped personal 
harm, Roland Graeme entered the half-ruined cell. 

The interior of the building was in a state which fully justified 
the opinion he had formed from its external injuries. The few 
rude utensils of the solitary’s hut were broken down, and lay 
scattered on the floor, where it seemed as if a fire had been made 
with some of the fragments to destroy the rest of his property, 
and to consume, in particular, the rude old image of St. Cuthbert, 


THE ABBOT. 


95 


in his episcopal habit, which lay on the hearth like Dagon 1 of 
yore, shattered with the ax and scorched with the flames, but 
only partially destroyed. In the little apartment which served 
as a chapel, the altar was overthrown, and the four huge stones 
of which it had been once composed lay scattered around the 
floor. The large stone crucifix which occupied the niche behind 
the altar, and fronted the supplicant while he paid his devotion 
there, had been pulled down, and dashed by its own weight into 
three fragments. There were marks of sledge hammers on each 
of these ; yet the image had been saved from utter demolition 
by the size and strength of the remaining fragments, which, 
though much injured, retained enough of the original sculpture 
to show what it had been intended to represent . 2 

Roland Graeme, secretly nursed in the tenets of Rome, saw 
with horror the profanation of the most sacred emblem, according 
to his creed, of our holy religion. 

“It is the badge of our redemption,” he said, “ which the felons 
have dared to violate. Would to God my weak strength were 
able to replace it, — my humble strength to atone for the sacri- 
lege ! ” 

He stooped to the task he first meditated, and with a sudden, 
and to himself almost an incredible, exertion of power, he lifted 
up the one extremity of the lower shaft of the cross, and rested 
it upon the edge of the large stone which served for its pedestal. 
Encouraged by this success, he applied his force to the other 
extremity, and, to his own astonishment, succeeded so far as to 
erect the lower end of the limb into the socket, out of which it 
had been forced, and to place this fragment of the image upright. 

While he was employed in this labor, or rather at the very 
moment when he had accomplished the elevation of the fragment, 
a voice, in thrilling and well-known accents, spoke behind him 
these words: “Well done, thou good and faithful servant! 

1 A god of the Philistines, represented as a man above and a fish below 
(see Milton’s Paradise Lost, Book I., line 462). 

2 Scott observes that this shrine of St. Cuthbert is entirely ideal. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


96 

Thus would I again meet the child of my love, the hope of my 
aged eyes.” 

Roland turned round in astonishment, and the tall, command- 
ing form of Magdalen Grseme stood beside him. She was arrayed 
in a sort of loose habit, in form like that worn by penitents in 
Catholic countries, but black in color, and approaching as near 
to a pilgrim’s 1 cloak as it was safe to wear in a country where 
the suspicion of Catholic devotion in many places endangered 
the safety of those who were- suspected of attachment to the 
ancient faith. Roland Graeme threw himself at her feet. She 
raised and embraced him, with affection indeed, but not unmixed 
with gravity which amounted almost to sternness. 

“ Thou hast kept well,” she said, “ the bird in thy bosom . 2 As 
a boy, as a youth, thou hast held fast thy faith amongst heretics ; 
thou hast kept thy secret and mine own amongst thine enemies. 
I wept when I parted from you, — I, who seldom weep, then shed 
tears, less for thy death than for thy spiritual danger. I dared 
not even see thee to bid thee a last farewell ; my grief, my 
swelling grief, had betrayed me to these heretics. But thou 
hast been faithful. Down, down on thy knees before the holy 
sign, which evil men injure and blaspheme! down, and praise 
saints and angels for the grace they have done thee in preserving 
thee from the leprous plague 3 which cleaves to the house in 
which thou wert nurtured!” 

“If, my mother, — so I must ever call you,” replied Graeme, 
“if I am returned such as thou wouldst wish me, thou must 
thank the care of the pious Father Ambrose, whose instructions 
confirmed your early precepts, and taught me at once to be faith- 
ful and to be silent.” 

1 One journeying to a place esteemed holy, to discharge some religious 
obligation or to gain some spiritual benefit. 

2 An expression used by Sir Ralph Percy when dying, to express his hav- 
ing preserved unstained his fidelity to the House of Lancaster. 

3 A disease like leprosy in being loathsome and incurable; here used 
metaphorically of Protestantism. 


THE ABBOT. 


97 


“Be he blessed for it!” said she, “blessed in the cell and in 
the field, in the pulpit and at the altar ; the saints rain blessings 
on him! — they are just — and employ his pious care to counter- 
act the evils which his detested brother works against the realm 
and the Church. But he knew not of thy lineage? ” 

“ I could not myself tell him that,” answered Roland. “ I 
knew but darkly, from your words, that Sir Halbert Glendinning 
holds mine inheritance, and that I am of blood as noble as runs 
in the veins of any Scottish baron. These are things not to be 
forgotten, but for the explanation I must now look to you.” 

“And when time suits, thou shalt not look for it in vain. 
But men say, my son, that thou art bold and sudden ; and those 
who bear such tempers are not lightly to be trusted with what 
will strongly move them.” 

“ Say rather, my mother,” returned Roland Graeme, “ that I 
am laggard and cold-blooded. What patience or endurance 
can you require of which he is not capable who for years has 
heard his religion ridiculed and insulted, yet failed to plunge his 
dagger into the blasphemer’s bosom! ” 

“Be contented, my child,” replied Magdalen Graeme; “the 
time, which then and even now demands patience, will soon ripen 
to that of effort and action. Great events are on the wing, and 
thou — thou shalt have thy share in advancing them. Thou hast 
relinquished the service of the Lady of Avenel? ” 

“ I have been dismissed from it, my mother, — I have lived to 
be dismissed, as if I were the meanest of the train.” 

“ It is the better, my child,” replied she ; “ thy mind will be 
the more hardened to undertake that which must be performed.” 

“ Let it be nothing, then, against the Lady of Avenel,” said 
the page, “ as thy look and words seem to imply. I have eaten 
her bread ; I have experienced her favor ; I will neither injure 
nor betray her.” 

“ Of that hereafter, my son,” said she ; “ but learn this, that it 
is not for thee to capitulate 1 in thy duty, and to say, ‘ This will 

1 Make conditions. 

7 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


98 

I do, and that will I leave undone.’ No, Roland! God and 
man will no longer abide the wickedness of this generation. 
Seest thou these fragments? knowest thou what they represent? 
and canst thou think it is for thee to make distinctions amongst 
a race so accursed by Heaven that they renounce, violate, 
blaspheme, and destroy whatsoever we are commanded to be- 
lieve in, whatsoever we are commanded to reverence? ” 

As she spoke, she bent her head towards the broken image, 
with a countenance in which strong resentment and zeal were 
mingled with an expression of ecstatic devotion ; she raised her 
left hand aloft as in the act of making a vow, and thus proceeded : 
“ Bear witness for me, blessed symbol of our salvation, bear wit- 
ness, holy saint, within whose violated temple we stand, that as it 
is not for vengeance of my own that my hate pursues these 
people, so neither for any favor or earthly affection towards any 
amongst them, will I withdraw my hand from the plow when 
it shall pass through the devoted furrow! Bear witness, holy 
saint, once thyself a wanderer and fugitive as we are now! bear 
witness, Mother of Mercy, Queen of Heaven! bear witness, 
saints and angels! ” 

In this high strain of enthusiasm, she stood, raising her eyes 
through the fractured roof of the vault, to the stars which now 
began to twinkle through the pale twilight, while the long gray 
tresses which hung down over her shoulders waved in the night 
breeze which the chasm and fractured windows admitted freely. 

Roland Graeme was too much awed by early habits, as well as 
by the mysterious import of her words, to ask for further expla- 
nation of the purpose she obscurely hinted at. Nor did she 
further press him on the subject; for, having concluded her 
prayer or obtestation, by clasping her hands together with so- 
lemnity, and then signing herself with the cross, she again ad- 
dressed her grandson, in a tone more adapted to the ordinary 
business of life. 

“ Thou must hence,” she said, “ Roland, thou must hence, but 
not till morning. And now, how wilt thou shift for thy night’s 


THE ABBOT 


99 


quarters? Thou hast been more softly bred than when we were 
companions in the misty hills of Cumberland and Liddesdale.” 

“ I have at least preserved, my good mother, the habits which 
I then learned, — can lie hard, feed sparingly, and think it no 
hardship. Since I was a wanderer with thee on the hills, I have 
been a hunter, and fisher, and fowler, and each of these is accus- 
tomed to sleep freely in a worse shelter than sacrilege has left us 
here.” 

“ Than sacrilege has left us here! ” said the matron, repeating 
his words, and parsing on them. “ Most true, my son ; and God’s 
faithful children are now worst sheltered when they lodge in 
God’s own house and the demesne of his blessed saints. We 
shall sleep cold here, under the night wind, which whistles through 
the breaches which heresy has made. They shall lie warmer 
who made them, — ay, and through a long hereafter.” 

Notwithstanding the wild and singular expression of this female, 
she appeared to retain towards Roland Graeme, in a strong degree, 
that affectionate and sedulous love which women bear to their 
nurslings and the children dependent on their care. It seemed 
as she would not permit him to do aught for himself which in 
former days her attention had been used to do for him, and that 
she considered the tall stripling before her as being equally 
dependent on her careful attention as when he was the orphan 
child who had owed all to her affectionate solicitude. 

“ What hast thou to eat now? ” she said, as, leaving the chapel, 
they w r ent into the deserted habitation of the priest ; “ or what 
means of kindling a fire, to defend thee from this raw and inclem- 
ent air? Poor child! thou hast made slight provision for a long 
journey ; nor hast thou skill to help thyself by wit when means 
are scanty. But Our Lady has placed by thy side one to whom 
want, in all its forms, is as familiar as plenty and splendor have 
formerly been. And with Want, Roland, come the arts of which 
she is the inventor.” 

With an active and officious diligence, which strangely con- 
trasted with her late abstracted and high tone of Catholic devo- 


IOO 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


tion, she set about her domestic arrangements for the evening. 
A pouch, which was hidden under her garment, produced a flint 
and steel , 1 and from the scattered fragments around (those per- 
taining to the image of St. Cuthbert scrupulously excepted) she 
obtained splinters sufficient to raise a sparkling and cheerful fire 
on the hearth of the deserted cell. 

“ And now,’’ she said, “ for needful food.” 

“ Think not of it, mother,” said Roland, “ unless you yourself 
feel hunger. It is a little thing for me to endure a night’s absti- 
nence, and a small atonement for the necessag' transgression of 
the rules of the Church upon which I was compelled during my 
stay in the castle.” 

“ Hunger for myself! ” answered the matron. “ Know, youth, 
that a mother knows not hunger till that of her child is satisfied.” 
And with affectionate inconsistency, totally different from her 
usual manner, she added, “ Roland, you must not fast ; you have 
dispensation ; 2 you are young, and to youth food and sleep are 
necessaries not to be dispensed with. Husband your strength, 
my child ; your sovereign, your religion, your country, require it. 
Let age macerate by fast and vigil a body which can only suffer ; 
let youth, in these active times, nourish the limbs and the strength 
which action requires.” 

While she thus spoke, the scrip, which had produced the means 
of striking fire, furnished provision for a meal, of which she her- 
self scarce partook, but anxiously watched her charge, taking a 
pleasure, resembling that* of an epicure , 3 in each morsel which he 
swallowed with a youthful appetite which abstinence had rendered 
unusually sharp. Roland readily obeyed her recommendations, 
and ate the food which she so affectionately and earnestly placed 
before him. But she shook her head when invited by him in 
return to partake of the refreshment her own cares had furnished, 

1 A part of every traveler’s equipment. The method of producing fire in 
the middle ages was by striking a spark from the steel with a piece of flint. 

2 A special permit to do that which is ordinarily forbidden. 

3 One having luxurious tastes. 


THE ABBOT. 


oi 


and when his solicitude became more pressing, she refused him 
in a loftier tone of rejection. 

“Young man,” she said, “you know not to whom or of what 
you speak. They to whom Heaven declares its purpose must 
merit its communication by mortifying the senses ; they have 
that within which requires not the superfluity of earthly nutriment, 
which is necessary to those who are without the sphere of the 
Vision. To them the watch spent in prayer, is a refreshing 
slumber, and the sense of doing the will of Heaven is a richer 
banquet than the tables of monarchs can spread before them! 
But do thou sleep soft, my son,” she said, relapsing from the tone 
of fanaticism into that of maternal affection and tenderness ; “ do 
thou sleep sound while life is but young with thee, and the cares 
of the day can be drowned in the slumbers of the evening. 
Different is thy duty and mine, and as different the means by 
which we must qualify and strengthen ourselves to perform it. 
From thee is demanded strength of body ; from me, strength of 
soul.” 

When she thus spoke, she prepared with ready address a pallet- 
couch , 1 composed partly of the dried leaves which had once 
furnished a bed to the solitary and the guests who occasionally 
received his hospitality, and which, neglected by the destroyers 
of his humble cell, had remained little disturbed in the corner 
allotted for them. To these her care added some of the vestures 
which lay torn and scattered on the floor. With a zealous hand 
she selected all such as appeared to have made any part of the 
sacerdotal 2 vestments, laying them aside as sacred from ordinary 
purposes ; and with the rest she made, with dexterous promptness, 
such a bed as a weary man might willingly stretch himself on, 
and, during the time she was preparing it, rejected, even with 
acrimony, any attempt which the youth made to assist her, or 
any entreaty which he urged, that she would accept of the place 
of rest for her own use. “ Sleep thou,” said she, “ Roland Graeme, 

1 From French paille , meaning “ straw; ” hence, a small rude couch. 

2 Priestly. 


102 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


sleep thou, the persecuted, the disinherited orphan, the son of 
an ill-fated mother, — sleep thou! I go to pray in the chapel 
beside thee.” 

The manner was too enthusiastically earnest, too obstinately 
firm, to permit Roland Graeme to dispute her will any further. 
Yet he felt some shame in giving way to it. It seemed as if she 
had forgotten the years that had passed away since their parting, 
and expected to meet, in the tall, indulged, and willful youth 
whom she had recovered, the passive obedience of the child 
whom she had left in the Castle of Avenel. This did not fail to 
hurt her grandson’s characteristic and constitutional pride. He 
obeyed, indeed, awed into submission by the sudden recurrence 
of former subordination, and by feelings of affection and grati- 
tude. Still, however, he felt the yoke. 

“ Have I relinquished the hawk and the hound,” he said, “ to 
become the pupil of her pleasure, as if I were still a child? — I, 
whom even my envious mates allowed to be superior in those 
exercises which they took most pains to acquire, and which 
came to me naturally as if a knowledge of them had been my 
birthright? This may not, and must not, be. I will be no 
reclaimed 1 sparrow-hawk, who is carried hooded on a woman’s 
wrist, and has his quarry only shown to him when his eyes are 
uncovered for his flight. I will know her purpose ere it is pro- 
posed to me to aid it.” 

These and other thoughts streamed through the mind of 
Roland Graeme ; and, although wearied with the fatigues of the 
day, it was long ere he could compose himself to rest. 


CHAPTER IX. 


AFTER passing the night in that sound sleep for which agi- 
JTA. tation and fatigue had prepared him, Roland was awak- 
ened by the fresh morning air, and by the beams of the rising 

1 To reclaim a hawk is to draw it back after it has been permitted to fly. 


THE ABBOT. 


03 


sun. His first feeling was that of surprise ; for, instead of look- 
ing forth from a turret window on the waters of the Lake of 
Avenel, which was the prospect his former apartment afforded, 
an unlatticed aperture gave him the view of the demolished garden 
of the banished anchorite. He sat up on his couch of leaves, 
and arranged in his memory, not without wonder, the singular 
events of the preceding day, which appeared the more surprising 
the more he considered them. He had lost the protectress of his 
youth, and in the same day he had recovered the guide and 
guardian of his childhood. The former deprivation he felt ought 
to be matter of unceasing regret, and it seemed as if the latter 
could hardly be the subject of unmixed self-congratulation. He 
remembered this person, who had stood to him in the relation of 
a mother, as equally affectionate in her attention, and absolute in 
her authority. A singular mixture of love and fear attended upon 
his early remembrances as they were connected with her ; and 
the fear that she might desire to resume the same absolute control 
over his motions — a fear which her conduct of yesterday did 
not tend much to dissipate — weighed heavily against the joy of 
this second meeting. 

“ She cannot mean,” said his rising pride, “ to lead and direct 
me as a pupil, when I am at the age of judging of my own 
actions? This she cannot mean, or, meaning it, will feel herself 
strangely deceived.” 

A sense of gratitude towards the person against whom his heart 
thus rebelled, checked his course of feeling. He resisted the 
thoughts which involuntarily arose in his mind, as he would have 
resisted an actual instigation of the foul fiend ; and, to aid him 
in his struggle, he felt for his beads. But, in his hasty departure 
from the Castle of Avenel, he had forgotten and left them behind 
him. 

“ This is yet worse,” he said ; “ but two things I learned of 
her under the most deadly charge of secrecy, — to tell my beads, 
and to conceal that I did so ; and I have kept my word till now ; 
and when she shall ask me for the rosary, I must say I have 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


104 

forgotten it! Do I deserve she should believe me when I say 
I have kept the secret of my faith, when I set so light by its 
symbol? ” 

He paced the floor in anxious agitation. In fact, his attach- 
ment to his faith was of a nature very different from that which 
animated the enthusiastic matron, but which, notwithstanding, it 
would have been his last thought to relinquish. 

The early charges impressed on him by his grandmother had 
been instilled into a mind and memory of a character peculiarly 
tenacious. Child as he was, he was proud of the confidence 
reposed in his discretion, and resolved to show that it had not 
been rashly intrusted to him. At the same time, his resolution 
was no more than that of a child, and must necessarily have 
gradually faded away, under the operation both of precept and 
example, during his residence at the Castle of Avenel, but for 
the exhortations of Father Ambrose, who, in his lay 1 estate, had 
been called Edward Glendinning. This zealous monk had been 
apprised, by an unsigned letter placed in his hand by a pilgrim, 
that a child educated in the Catholic faith was now in the Castle 
of Avenel, perilously situated (so was the scroll expressed) as 
ever the three children who were cast into the fiery furnace of 
persecution . 2 The letter threw upon Father Ambrose the fault, 
should this solitary lamb, unwillingly left within the demesnes of 
the prowling wolf, become his final prey. There needed no fur- 
ther exhortation to the monk than the idea that a soul might 
be endangered, and that a Catholic might become an apostate ; 3 
and he made his visits more frequent than usual to the Castle of 
Avenel, lest, through want of the private encouragement and 
instruction which he always found some opportunity of dispens- 
ing, the Church should lose a proselyte , 4 and, according to the 
Romish creed, the Devil acquire a soul. 

Still these interviews were rare ; and though they encouraged 

1 As one of the laity, or the people as distinguished from the clergy. 

2 See Dan. iii. 

3 One who proves false to his religious belief. 


4 A convert. 


THE ABBOT. 


io 5 

the solitary boy to keep his secret and hold fast his religion, they 
were neither frequent nor long enough to inspire him with any- 
thing beyond a blind attachment to the observances which the 
priest recommended. He adhered to the forms of his religion 
rather because he felt it would be dishonorable to change that 
of his fathers, than from 'any rational conviction or sincere belief 
of its mysterious doctrines. It was a principal part of the distinc- 
tion which, in his own opinion, singled him out from those with 
whom he lived, and gave him an additional, though an internal 
and concealed reason, for contemning those of the household 
who showed an undisguised dislike of him, and for hardening 
himself against the instructions of the chaplain, Henry Warden. 

“The fanatic preacher,” he thought within himself, during 
some one of the chaplain’s frequent discourses against the Church 
of Rome, “he little knows whose ears are receiving his profane 
doctrine, and with what contempt and abhorrence they hear his 
blasphemies against the holy religion by which kings have been 
crowned, and for which martyrs have died ! ” 

But in such proud feelings of defiance of heresy, as it was 
termed, and of its professors, which associated the Catholic re- 
ligion with a sense of generous independence, and that of the 
Protestants with the subjugation of his mind and temper to the 
direction of Mr. Warden, began and ended the faith of Roland 
Graeme, who, independently of the pride of singularity, sought 
not to understand, and had no one- to expound to him, the 
peculiarities of the tenets which he professed. His regret, there- 
fore, at missing the rosary which had been conveyed to him 
through the hands of Father Ambrose, was rather the shame of 
a soldier who has dropped his cockade or badge of service, than 
that of a zealous votary who had forgotten a visible symbol of 
his religion. 

His thoughts on the subject, however, were mortifying, and 
the more so from apprehension that his negligence must reach 
the ears of his relative. He felt it could be no one but she who 
had secretly transmitted these beads to Father Ambrose for his 


o6 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


use, and that his carelessness was but an indifferent requital of 
her kindness. 

“ Nor will she omit to ask me about them,” said he to himself, 
“ for hers is a zeal which age cannot quell ; and if she has not 
quitted her wont, 1 my answer will not fail to incense her.” 

While he thus communed with himself, Magdalen Graeme 
entered the apartment. “ The blessing of the morning on your 
youthful head, my son,” she said with a solemnity of expression 
which thrilled the youth to the heart, so sad and earnest did the 
benediction flow from her lips, in a tone where devotion was 
blended with affection. “And thou hast started thus early from 
thy couch to catch the first breath of the dawn? But it is not 
well, my Roland. Enjoy slumber while thou canst ; the time is 
not far behind when the waking eye must be thy portion as well 
as mine.” 

She uttered these words with an affectionate and anxious tone, 
which showed, that, devotional as were the habitual exercises of 
her mind, the thoughts of her nursling yet bound her to earth 
with the chords of human affection and passion. 

But she abode not long in a mood which she probably re- 
garded as a momentary dereliction of her imaginary high call- 
ing. “ Come,” she said, “ youth, up and be doing. It is time 
that we leave this place.” 

“And whither do we go? ” said the young man ; “or what is 
the object of our journey? ” 

The matron stepped back, and gazed on him with surprise 
not unmingled with displeasure. 

“To what purpose such a question?” she said. “Is it not 
enough that I lead the way? Hast thou lived with heretics tilt 
thou hast learned to install the vanity of thine own private judg- 
ment in place of due honor and obedience? ” 

1 he time,” thought Roland Graeme within himself, “ is already 
come when I must establish my freedom, or be a willing thrall 2 
forever. I feel that I must speedily look to it.” 

1 “ Quitted her wont,” i.e., changed. 2 A slave; a bondman. 


THE ABBOT. 


107 

She instantly fulfilled his foreboding by recurring to the theme 
by which her thoughts seemed most constantly .engrossed, al- 
though, when she pleased, no one could so perfectly disguise her 
religion. 

“Thy beads, my son — hast thou told thy beads? ” 

Roland Graeme colored high. He felt the storm was approach- 
ing, but scorned to avert it by a falsehood. 

“ I have forgotten my rosary,” he said, “ at the Castle of Ave- 
nel.” 

“ Forgotten thy rosary!” she exclaimed. “ False both to reli- 
gion and to natural duty, hast thou lost what was sent so far, and 
at such risk, a token of the truest affection, that should have 
been, every bead of it, as dear to thee as thine eyeballs ? ” 

“ I am grieved it should have so chanced, mother,” replied 
the youth, “ and much did I value the token as coming from you. 
For what remains, I trust to win gold enough, when I push my 
way in the world ; and till then, beads of black oak, or a rosary 
of nuts, must serve the turn.” 

“ Hear him! ” said his grandmother ; “ young as he is, he hath 
learned already the lessons of the Devil’s school ! The rosary, 
consecrated by the Holy Father himself, and sanctified by his 
blessing, is but a few knobs of gold, whose value may be replaced 
by the wages of his profane labor, and whose virtue may be 
supplied by a string of hazel nuts! This is heresy. So Henry 
Warden, the wolf who ravages the flock of the Shepherd , 1 hath 
taught thee to speak and to think.” 

“ Mother,” said Roland Graeme, “ I am no heretic ; I believe 
and I pray according to the rules of our Church. This mis- 
fortune I regret, but I cannot amend it.” 

“ Thou canst repent it, though,” replied his spiritual directress, 
“repent it in dust and ashes, atone for it by fasting, prayer, 
and penance, instead of looking on me with a countenance as 
light as if thou hadst lost but a button from thy cap.” 

1 Christ. Here “ flock” includes only members of the Roman Catholic 
Church. 


io8 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Mother,” said Roland, “ be appeased ; I will remember my 
fault in the next confession which I have space and opportunity 
to make, and will do whatever the priest may require of me in 
atonement. For the heaviest fault I can do no more. But, 
mother,” he added after a moment’s pause, “ let me not incur 
your further displeasure, if I ask whither our journey is bound, 
and what is its object. I am no longer a child, but a man, and 
at my own disposal, with down upon my chin and a sword by 
my side. I will go to the end of the world with you to do your 
pleasure ; but I owe it to myself to inquire the purpose and direc- 
tion of our travels.” 

“ You owe it to yourself, ungrateful boy? ” replied his relative, 
passion rapidly supplying the color which age had long chased 
from her features. “To yourself you owe nothing, you can owe 
nothing; to me you owe everything, — your life when an infant, 
your support while a child, the means of instruction, and the 
hopes of honor; and sooner than thou shouldst abandon the 
noble cause to which I have devoted thee, would I see thee lie 
a corpse at my feet! ” 

Roland was alarmed at the vehement agitation with which she 
spoke, and which threatened to overpower her aged frame ; and 
he hastened to reply, “ I forget nothing of what I owe to you, 
my dearest mother. Show me how my blood can testify my 
gratitude, and you shall judge if I spare it. But blindfold obe- 
dience has in it as little merit as reason.” 

“Saints and angels! ” replied Magdalen, “and do I hear these 
words from the child of my hopes, the nursling by whose bed I 
have kneeled, and for whose weal I have wearied every saint in 
heaven with prayers? Roland, by obedience only canst thou 
show thy affection and thy gratitude.- What avails it that you 
might perchance adopt the course I propose to thee, were it to 
be fully explained? Thou wouldst not then follow my command, 
but thine own judgment ; thou wouldst not do the will of Heaven, 
communicated through thy best friend, to whom thou owest 
thine all , but thou wouldst observe the blinded dictates of thine 


THE ABBOT. 


109 

own imperfect reason. Hear me, Roland! a lot calls thee — 
solicits thee — demands thee — the proudest to which man can 
be destined, and it uses the voice of thine earliest, thy best, thine 
only friend. Wilt thou resist it? Then go thy way, — leave me 
here. My hopes on earth are gone and withered. I will kneel 
me down before yonder profaned altar, and when the raging her- 
etics return, they shall dye it with the blood of a martyr.” 

“ But, my dearest mother,” said Roland Graeme, whose early 
recollections of her violence were formidably renewed by these 
wild expressions of reckless passion, “I will not forsake you, — 
I will abide with you. Worlds shall not force me from your side. 
I . will protect — I will defend you — I will live with you, and 
die for you! ” 

“ One word, my son, were worth all these ; say only, ‘ I will 
obey you.’ ” 

“ Doubt it not, mother,” replied the youth, “ I will, and that 
with all my heart ; only ” — 

“ Nay, I receive no qualifications of thy promise,” said Mag- 
dalen Graeme, catching at the word. “ The obedience which I 
require is absolute ; and a blessing on thee, thou darling memory 
of my beloved child, that thou hast power to make a promise 
so hard to human pride! Trust me well, that, in the design in 
which thou dost embark, thou hast for thy partners the mighty 
and the valiant, the power of the Church, and the pride of the 
noble. Succeed or fail, live or die, thy name shall be among 
those with whom success or failure is alike glorious, death or life 
alike desirable. Forward, then, forward! life is short, and our 
plan is laborious. Angels, saints, and the whole blessed host of 
heaven have their eyes even now on this barren and blighted 
land of Scotland. What say I? on Scotland? their eye is on us , 
Roland, — on the frail woman, on the inexperienced youth, who, 
amidst the ruins which sacrilege hath made in the holy place, 
devote themselves to God’s cause, and that of their lawful Sover- 
eign. Amen, so be it! The blessed eyes- of saints and martyrs, 
which see our resolve, shall witness the execution ; or their ears, 


o 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


which hear our vow, shall hear our death groan drawn in the 
sacred cause ! ” 

While thus speaking, she held Roland Graeme firmly with one 
hand, while she pointed upward with the other, to leave him, as 
it were, no means of protest against the obtestation to which he 
was thus made a party. When she had finished her appeal to 
Heaven, she left him no leisure for further hesitation, or for asking 
any explanation of her purpose ; but passing, with the same ready 
transition as formerly, to the solicitous attentions of an anxious 
parent, overwhelmed him with questions concerning his residence 
in the Castle of Avenel, and the qualities and accomplishments 
he had acquired. 

“ It is well,” she said, when she had exhausted her inquiries, 
“ my gay goshawk 1 hath been well trained, and will soar high ; 
but those who bred him will have cause to fear as well as to 
wonder at his flight. Let us now,” she said, “ to our morning 
meal, and care not though it be a scanty one. A few hours’ 
walk will bring us to more friendly quarters.” 

They broke their fast accordingly, on such fragments as 
remained of their yesterday’s provision, and immediately set out 
on their further journey. Magdalen Graeme led the way, with a 
firm and active step much beyond her years, and Roland Graeme 
followed, pensive and anxious, and far from satisfied with the 
state of dependence to which he seemed again to be reduced. 

“Am I forever,” he said to himself, “to be devoured with the 
desire of independence and free agency, and yet to be forever 
led on, by circumstances, to follow the will of others? ” 

1 A hawk, distinguished from the true falcon by not having a notched bill. 
The comparison is taken from an old ballad, entitled Fause Foodrage, in 
which a deposed queen, to preserve her infant son, exchanges him for the 
daughter of a friend, and directs his education thus, — 

“ And you shall learn my gay gosshawk 
Right well to breast a steed ; 

And so will I your turtle dow, 

As well to write and read.” 


THE ABBOT. 


hi 


CHAPTER X. 

I N the course of their journey the travelers spoke little to each 
other. Magdalen Graeme chanted from time to time in 
a low voice a part of some one of those beautiful old Latin 
hymns which belong to the Catholic service, muttered an ave 
or a credo, and so passed on, lost in devotional contemplation. 
The meditations of her grandson were more bent on mundane 
matters ; and many a time, as a moor fowl arose from the heath, 
and shot along the moor, uttering his bold crow of defiance, he 
thought of the jolly Adam Woodcock and his trusty goshawk; 
or, as they passed a thicket where the low trees and bushes were 
intermingled with tall fern, furze , 1 and broom, so as to form a 
thick and intricate cover , 2 his dreams were of a roebuck and a 
brace of gazehounds. But frequently his mind returned to the 
benevolent and kind mistress whom he had left behind him, 
offended justly, and unreconciled by any effort of his. 

“ My step would be lighter,” he thought, “ and so would my 
heart, could I but have returned to see her for one instant, and 
to say, ‘ Lady, the orphan boy was wild, but not ungrateful.’ ” 
Traveling in these divers moods, about the hour of noon they 
reached a small straggling village, in which, as usual, were seen 
one or two of those predominating towers, or peelhouses, which, 
for reasons of defense elsewhere detailed, were at that time to 
be found in every Border hamlet. A brook flowed beside the 
village, and watered the valley in which it stood. There was also 
a mansion at the end of the village, and a little way separated 
from it, much dilapidated, and in very bad order, but appearing 

1 Furze or gorse is a low spiny evergreen shrub, with bright yellow 
flowers. It covers large barren areas in England and Scotland. It is closely 
related to the broom, or Plantagenista, which was the badge of, and gave the 
name to, the Plantagenet kings of England. 

2 Underbrush which forms a shelter for game. 


112 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


to have been the abode of persons of some consideration. The 
situation was agreeable, being an angle formed by the stream, 
bearing three or four large sycamore 1 trees, which were in full 
leaf, and served to relieve the dark appearance of the mansion, 
which was built of a deep-red stone. The house itself was a 
large one, but was now obviously too big for the inmates. Several 
windows were built up, especially those which opened from the 
lower story ; others were blockaded in a less substantial manner. 
The court before the door, which had once been defended with 
a species of low outer wall, now ruinous, was paved ; but the 
stones were completely covered with long gray nettles, thistles, 
and other weeds, which, shooting up betwixt the flags, had dis- 
placed many of them from their level. Even matters demanding 
more peremptory attention had been left neglected, in a manner 
which argued sloth or poverty in the extreme. The stream, 
undermining a part of the bank near an angle of the ruinous wall, 
had brought it down, with a corner turret, the ruins of which 
lay in the bed of the river. The current, interrupted by the ruins 
which it had overthrown, and turned yet nearer to the site of the 
tower, had greatly enlarged the breach it had made, and was in 
the process of undermining the ground on which the house itself 
stood, unless it were speedily protected by sufficient bulwarks. 

All this attracted Roland Graeme’s observation, as they ap- 
proached the dwelling by a winding path, which gave them, at 
intervals, a view of it from different points. 

“ If we go to yonder house,” he said to his mother, “ I trust it 
is but for a short visit. It looks as if two rainy days from the 
northwest would send the whole into the brook.” 

“You see but with the eyes of the body,” said the old woman. 
“ God will defend his own, though it be forsaken and despised 
of men. Better to dwell on the sand, under his law, than fly to 
the rock of human trust.” 

As she thus spoke, they entered the court before the old man- 
sion ; and Roland could observe that the front of it had formerly 
1 In Europe a large species of maple. 


THE ABBOT 


J1 3 

been considerably ornamented with carved work, in the same 
dark-colored freestone of which it was built. But all these orna- 
ments had been broken down and destroyed, and only the shat- 
tered vestiges of niches and entablatures now strewed the place 
which they had once occupied. The larger entrance in front 
was walled up ; but a little footpath, which, from its appearance, 
seemed to be rarely trodden, led to a small wicket, defended by 
a door well clinched with iron-headed nails, at which Magdalen 
Graeme knocked three times, pausing betwixt each knock, until 
she heard an answering tap from within. At the last knock, the 
wicket was opened by a pale, thin female, who said, “ Benedicti 
qui venient in nojnine Domini.” 1 They entered, and the portress 
hastily shut behind them the wicket, and made fast the massive 
fastenings by which it was secured. 

The female led the way through a narrow entrance, into a 
vestibule of some extent, paved with stone, and having benches 
of the same solid material ranged around. At the upper end 
was an oriel window, but some of the intervals formed by the 
stone shafts and mullions were blocked up, so that the apartment 
was very gloomy. 

Here they stopped ; and the mistress of the mansion, for such she 
was, embraced Magdalen Graeme, and, greeting her by the title of 
“ sister,” kissed her with much solemnity on either side of the face. 

“ The blessing of Our Lady be upon you, my sister ! ” were her 
next words ; and they left no doubt upon Roland’s mind respect- 
ing the religion of their hostess, even if he could have suspected 
his venerable and zealous guide of resting elsewhere than in the 
habitation of an orthodox Catholic. They spoke together a few 
words in private, during which he had leisure to remark more 
particularly the appearance of his grandmother’s friend. 

Her age might be betwixt fifty and sixty. Her looks had a 
mixture of melancholy and unhappiness that bordered on discon- 
tent, and obscured the remains of beauty which age had still left 
on her features. Her dress was of the plainest and most ordinary 
1 Blessed are those who come in the name of the Lord. 

. 8 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


114 

description, of a dark color, and, like Magdalen Graeme’s, some- 
thing approaching to a religious habit. Strict neatness and clean- 
liness of person seemed to intimate, that, if poor, she was not 
reduced to squalid or heartbroken distress, and that she was still 
sufficiently attached to life to retain a taste for its decencies, if 
not its elegancies. Her manner, as well as her features and 
appearance, argued an original condition and education far above 
the meanness of her present appearance. In short, the whole 
figure was such as to excite the idea, “ That female must have 
had a history worth knowing.” While Roland Graeme was 
making this very reflection, the whispers of the two females 
ceased ; and the mistress of the mansion, approaching him, looked 
on his face and person with much attention, and, as it seemed, 
some interest. 

“ This, then,” she said, addressing his relative, “ is the child of 
thine unhappy daughter, Sister Magdalen; and him, the only 
shoot from your ancient tree, you are willing to devote to the 
good cause? ” 

“Yes, by the rood,” 1 answered Magdalen Graeme in her usual 
tone of resolved determination, “ to the good cause I devote him, 
flesh and fell, 2 sinew and limb, body and soul.” 

“ Thou art a happy woman, Sister Magdalen,” answered her 
companion, “that, lifted so high above human affection and human 
feeling, thou canst bind such a victim to the horns 3 of the altar. 
Had I been called to make such sacrifice, — to plunge a youth 
so young and fair into the plots and bloodthirsty -dealings of the 
time, — not the patriarch Abraham, when he led Isaac up the 
mountain, 4 would have rendered more melancholy obedience.” 

She then continued to look at Roland with a mournful aspect 
of compassion, until the intentness of her gaze occasioned his 
color to rise ; and he was about to move out of its influence, when 
he was stopped by his grandmother with one hand, while with 

1 Cross. 2 Skin or hide. 

3 The projecting corners of the altar, which symbolized divine protection. 

4 See Gen. xxii. 1-13. 


THE ABBOT. 


*5 


the other she divided the hair upon his forehead, which was now 
crimson with bashfulness, while she added, with a mixture of 
proud affection and firm resolution, “ Ay, look at him well, my 
sister, for on a fairer face thine eye never rested. I too, when I 
first saw him after a long separation, felt as the worldly feel, and 
was half shaken in my purpose. But no wind can tear a leaf 
from the withered tree which has long been stripped of its foliage, 
and no mere human casualty can awaken the mortal feelings 
which have long slept in the calm of devotion.” 

While the old woman thus spoke, her manner gave the lie to 
her assertions, for the tears rose to her eyes while she added, “ But 
the fairer and the more spotless the victim, is it not, my sister, 
the more worthy of acceptance?” She seemed glad to escape 
from the sensations which agitated her, and instantly added, “ He 
will escape, my sister ; there will be a ram caught in the thicket, 
and the hand of our revolted brethren shall not be on the youth- 
ful Joseph . 1 Heaven can defend its own rights, even by means 
of babes and sucklings, of women and beardless boys.” 

“ Heaven hath left us,” said the other female ; “ for our sins 
and our fathers’ the succors of the blessed saints have abandoned 
this accursed land. We may win the crown of martyrdom, but 
not that of earthly triumph. One, too, whose prudence was at 
this deep crisis so indispensable, has been called to a better world. 
The Abbot Eustatius is no more.” 

“May his soul have mercy!” said Magdalen Graeme, “and 
may Heaven, too, have mercy upon us, who linger behind in this 
bloody land! His loss is indeed a perilous blow to our enter- 
prise ; for who remains behind possessing his far-fetched experi- 
ence, his self-devoted zeal, his consummate wisdom, and his un- 
daunted courage ? He hath fallen with the Church’s standard 
in his hand, but God will raise up another to lift the blessed 
banner. Whom have the Chapter 2 elected in his room? ” 

1 See Gen. xxxvii. 3-32. 

2 The assembly of monks in a monastery, named from the practice of 
meeting to hear a chapter of their rule or code of laws read. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


1 16 

“ It is rumored, no one of the few remaining brethren dare 
accept the office. The heretics have sworn that they will permit 
no future election, and will heavily punish any attempt to create 
a Qew Abbot of St. Mary’s. Conjuraverunt inter se principes , 
dicentes , Projiciamus laqueos ejus ." 1 2 

“Quousque, Domme! ” 2 ejaculated Magdalen. “ This, my sis- 
ter, were indeed a perilous and fatal breach in our band ; but I 
am firm in my belief that another will arise in the place of him 
so untimely removed. Where is thy daughter Catherine? ” 

“ In the parlor,” answered the matron, “ but” — She looked at 
Roland Graeme, and muttered something in the ear of her friend. 

“ Fear it not,” answered Magdalen Graeme ; “it is both lawful 
and necessary — fear nothing from him. I would he were as 
well grounded in the faith by which alone comes safety, as he is 
free from thought, deed, or speech of villainy. Therein is the 
heretics’ discipline to be commended, my sister, that they train 
up their youth in strong morality, and choke up every inlet to 
youthful folly.” 

“ It is but a cleansing of the outside of the cup,” answered her 
friend, “ a whitening of the sepulcher . 3 But he shall see Catherine, 
since you, sister, judge it safe and meet. — Follow us, youth,” she 
added, and led the way from the apartment with her friend. 
These were the only words which the matron had addressed to 
Roland Graeme, who obeyed them in silence. As they paced 
through several winding passages and waste apartments with a 
very slow step, the young page had leisure to make some reflec- 
tions on his situation, — reflections of a nature which his ardent 
temper considered as specially disagreeable. It seemed he had 
now got two mistresses, or tutoresses, instead of one, — both 
elderly women, and both, it would seem, in league to direct his 

1 See Psalms ii. 2, 3: “ The rulers take counsel together, . . . saying, 
Let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from us.” 

2 How long, O Lord! 

3 “ Whitening,” etc., i.e., making outwardly clean that which is inwardly 
foul (see Matt, xxiii. 27). 


THE ABBOT. 


*7 


motions according to their own pleasure, and for the accomplish- 
ment of plans to which he was no party. This, he thought, was 
too much ; arguing, reasonably enough, that whatever right his 
grandmother and benefactress had to guide his motions, she was 
neither entitled to transfer her authority, nor to divide it with an- 
other, who seemed to assume, without ceremony, the same tone 
of Absolute command over him. 

“ But it shall not long continue thus,” thought Roland. “ 1 
will not be all my life the slave of a woman’s whistle, to go when 
she bids, and come when she calls. No, by St. Andrew! 1 the 
hand that can hold the lance is above the control of the distaff. 
I will leave them the slipped collar 2 in their hands on the first 
opportunity, and let them execute their own devices by their own 
proper force. It may save them both from peril, for I guess 
what they meditate is not likely to prove either safe or easy. 
The Earl of Murray and his heresy are too well rooted to be 
grubbed up by two old women.” 

As he thus resolved, they entered a low room, in which a third 
female was seated. This apartment was the first he had observed 
in the mansion which was furnished with movable seats, and 
with a wooden table, over which was laid a piece of tapestry. 
A carpet was spread on the floor, there was a grate in the chim- 
ney, and, in brief, the apartment had the air of being habitable 
and inhabited. 

But Roland’s eyes found better employment than to make 
observations on the accommodations of the chamber ; for this 
second female inhabitant of the mansion seemed something very 
different from anything he had yet seen there. At his first entry, 
she had greeted with a silent and low obeisance the two aged 
matrons ; then, glancing her eyes towards Roland, she adjusted a 
veil which hung back over her shoulders, so as to bring it over 

1 One of the twelve Apostles, said by tradition to have suffered martyrdom 
at Patrse (a city of Achaia), fastened by cords to a cross of the shape now 
called St. Andrew’s, formed by two oblique bars. 

2 “ Slipped collar,” i.e., a leash out of which the head has been slipped. 


1 18 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


her face, — an operation which she performed with much modesty, 
but without either affected haste or embarrassed timidity. 

During this maneuver, Roland had time to observe that the 
face was that of a girl apparently not much past sixteen, and 
that the eyes were at once soft and brilliant. To these very 
favorable observations was added the certainty that the fair ob- 
ject to whom they referred possessed an excellent shape, border- 
ing perhaps on enbofipoint : l and therefore rather that of a Hebe 2 
than of a Sylph , 3 but beautifully formed, and shown to great ad- 
vantage by the close jacket and petticoat which she wore after 
a foreign fashion, the last not quite long enough to conceal a 
very pretty foot, which rested on a bar of the table at which she 
sat ; her round arms and taper fingers very busily employed in 
repairing the piece of tapestry which was spread on it, which ex- 
hibited several deplorable fissures, enough to demand the utmost 
skill of the most expert seamstress. 

It is to be remarked that it was by stolen glances that Roland 
Graeme contrived to ascertain these interesting particulars ; and 
he thought he could once or twice, notwithstanding the texture 
of the veil, detect the damsel in the act of taking similar cogni- 
zance of his own person. The matrons in the mean while con- 
tinued their separate conversation, eying from time to time the 
young people, in a manner which left Roland in no doubt that 
they were the subject of their conversation. At length he dis- 
tinctly heard Magdalen Graeme say these words: “Nay, my 
sister, we must give them opportunity to speak together, and to 
become acquainted ; they must be personally known to each 
other, or how shall they be able to execute what they are in- 
trusted with? ” 

It seemed as if the matron, not fully satisfied with her friend’s 
reasoning, continued to offer some objections; but they were 
borne down by her more dictatorial friend. 

1 Embonpoint ; plumpness and roundness of figure. 

2 Goddess of Health. 3 A spirit of the air. 


THE ABBOT. 


119 

“ It must be so,” she said, “ my dear sister ; let us therefore go 
forth on the balcony, to finish our conversation. — And do you,” 
she said, addressing Roland and the girl, “become acquainted 
with each other.” 

With this she stepped up to the young woman, and, raising her 
veil, discovered features which, whatever might be their ordinary 
complexion, were now covered with a universal blush. 

“Licitum sit ,” 1 said Magdalen, looking at the other matron. 

“Vix licitum ,” 2 replied the other with reluctant and hesitat- 
ing acquiescence ; and, again adjusting the veil of the blushing 
girl, she dropped it so as to shade, though not to conceal, her 
countenance, and whispered to her, in a tone loud enough for 
the page to hear, “ Remember, Catherine, who thou art, and for 
what destined.” 

The matron then retreated with Magdalen Graeme through one 
of the casements of the apartment, that opened on a large, broad 
balcony, which, with its ponderous balustrade, had once run 
along the whole south front of the building which faced the 
brook, and formed a pleasant and commodious walk in the open 
air. It was now in some places deprived of the balustrade, in 
others broken and narrowed, but, ruinous as it was, could still 
be used as a pleasant promenade. Here, then, walked the two 
ancient dames, busied in their private conversation ; yet not so 
much so, but that Roland could observe the matrons, as their 
thin forms darkened the casement in passing or repassing before 
it, dart a glance into the apartment, to see how matters were 
going on there. 


CHAPTER XI. 

C ATHERINE was at the happy age of innocence and 
buoyancy of spirit, when, after the first moment of embar- 
rassment was over, a situation of awkwardness, like that in which 


1 It might be permitted. 


2 Possibly it may be permitted. 


120 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


she was suddenly left to make acquaintance with a handsome 
youth, not even known to her by name, struck her, in spite of 
herself, in a ludicrous point of view. She bent her beautiful eyes 
upon the work with which she was busied, and with infinite 
gravity sat out the two first turns of the matrons upon the bal- 
cony; but then, glancing her deep-blue eye a little toward,*, 
Roland, and observing the embarrassment under which he labored, 
now shifting on his chair, and now dangling his cap, the whole 
man evincing that he was perfectly at a loss how to open the 
conversation, she could keep her composure no longer, but after 
a vain struggle broke out into a sincere, though a very involun- 
tary, fit of laughing, so richly accompanied by the laughter of her 
merry eyes, which actually glanced through the tears which the 
effort filled them with, and by the waving of her rich tresses, that 
the Goddess of Smiles 1 herself never looked more lovely than 
Catherine at that moment. A court page would not have left 
her long alone in her mirth ; but Roland was country bred, and 
besides, having some jealousy as well as bashfulness, he took it 
into his head that he was himself the object of her inextinguish- 
able laughter. His endeavors to sympathize with Catherine, 
therefore, could carry him no further than a forced giggle, which 
had more of displeasure than of mirth in it, and which so much 
enhanced that of the girl, that it seemed to render it impossible 
for her ever to bring her laughter to an end, with whatever anx- 
ious pains she labored to do so. For every one has felt, that, 
when a paroxysm of laughter has seized him at a misbecoming 
time and place, the efforts which he makes to suppress it, nay, 
the very sense of the impropriety of giving way to it, tend only 
to augment and prolong the irresistible impulse. 

It was undoubtedly lucky for Catherine, as well as for Roland, 
that the latter did not share in the excessive mirth of the former, 
hor seated as she was, with her back to the casement, Catherine 
could easily escape the observation of the two matrons during 
the course of their promenade ; whereas Graeme was so placed, 
1 Venus; also Goddess of Beauty and Love. 


THE ABBOT. 


21 


with his side to the window, that his mirth, had he shared that of 
his companion, would have been instantly visible, and could not 
have failed to give offense to the personages in question. He 
sat, however, with some impatience, until Catherine had ex- 
hausted either her power or her desire of laughing, and was 
returning with good grace to the exercise of her needle, and then 
he observed, with some dryness, that there seemed no great occa- 
sion to recommend to them to improve their acquaintance, as it 
seemed that they were already tolerably familiar. 

Catherine had an extreme desire to set off upon a fresh score, 
but she repressed it strongly, and, fixing her eyes on her work, 
replied by asking his pardon, and promising to avoid future 
offense. 

Roland had sense enough to feel that an air of offended dig- 
nity was very much misplaced, and that it was with a very differ- 
ent bearing he ought to meet the deep-blue eyes which had borne 
such a hearty burden in the laughing scene. He tried, therefore, 
to extricate himself as well as he could from his blunder by as- 
suming a tone of correspondent gayety, and requesting to know 
of the nymph 1 how it was her pleasure that they should proceed 
in improving the acquaintance which had commenced so merrily. 

“That,” she said, “you must yourself discover; perhaps I 
have gone a step too far in opening our interview.” 

“ Suppose,” said Roland Grseme, “ we should begin as in a 
tale-book, by asking each other’s names and histories.” 

“ It is right well imagined,” said Catherine, “ and shows an 
argute 2 judgment. Do you begin, and I will listen, and only 
put in a question or two at the dark parts of the story. Come, 
unfold, then, your name and history, my new acquaintance.” 

“ I am called Roland Grseme, and that tall old woman is my 
grandmother.” 

“And your tutoress? Good. Who are your parents? ” 

1 The nymphs were inferior, classical deities, represented as beautiful 
maidens eternally young : hence, an attractive maiden. 

2 Literally, sharp or shrill ; hence, keen or ingenious. 


122 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ They are both dead,” replied Roland. 

“Ay, but who were they? You had parents, I presume? ” 

“ I suppose so,” said Roland ; “ but I have never been able to 
learn much of their history. My father was a Scottish knight, 
who died gallantly in his stirrups . 1 My mother was a Graeme of 
Heathergill, in the Debatable Land. Most of her family were 
killed when the Debatable country was burned by the Lord 
Maxwell and Herries 2 of Caerlaverock.” 

“ Is it long ago? ” said the damsel. 

“ Before I was born,” answered the page. 

“ That must be a great while since,” said she, shaking her head 
gravely; “look you, I cannot weep for them.” 

“ It needs not,” said the youth ; “ they fell with honor.” 

“ So much for your lineage, fair sir,” replied his companion, 
“of whom I like the living specimen [a glance at the casement] 
far less than those that are dead. Your much honored grand- 
mother looks as if she could make one weep in sad earnest. 
And now, fair sir, for your own person. If you tell not the tale 
faster, it will be cut short in the middle ; Mother Bridget pauses 
longer and longer every time she .passes the window, and with 
her there is as little mirth as in the grave of your ancestors.” 

“ My tale is soon told. I was introduced into the Castle of 
Avenel to be page to the Lady of the mansion.” 

“She is a strict Huguenot , 3 is she not? ” said the maiden. 

“ As strict as Calvin 4 himself. But my grandmother can play 

1 “ In his stirrups,” i.e., in battle. 

2 In the reign of Mary, the head of the ancient family of Maxwells of 
Caerlaverock Castle, in the county of Dumfries, near Solway Frith, in 
southern Scotland. 

3 The French name for a Protestant in the sixteenth and seventeenth 
centuries. 

4 Jean Calvin (1509-64), Swiss scholar and religious reformer. Though- 
educated for the Church, he was led by the impulse towards reform in France 
to read the Scriptures, and gave up theology for law. Obliged to flee from 
Paris in 1533, he retreated to Bale, and in 1535 published his great work 
L Institution Chretienne, which embodied at once a profession of faith, a 


THE ABBOT. 


123 


the puritan when it suits her purpose, and she had some plan of 
her own for quartering me in the castle. It would have failed, 
however, after we had remained several weeks at the hamlet, but 
for an unexpected master of ceremonies ” — 

“ And who was that? ” said the girl. 

“ A large black dog, Wolf by name, who brought me into the 
castle one day in his mouth, like a hurt wild duck, and presented 
me to the Lady.” 

“A most respectable introduction, truly,” said Catherine; 
“and what might you learn at this same castle? I love dearly 
to know what my acquaintances can do at need.” 

“To fly a hawk, hollow to a hound, back a horse, and wield 
lance, bow, and brand.” 

“And to boast of all this when you have learned it,” said 
Catherine, “ which, in France at least, is the surest accomplish- 
ment of a page. But proceed, fair sir ; how came your Hugue- 
not Lord and your no less Huguenot Lady to receive and keep in 
the family so perilous a person as a Catholic page? ” 

“ Because they knew not that part of my history, which from 
infancy I have been taught to keep secret, and because my 
grandam’s former zealous attendance on their heretic chaplain 
had laid all this suspicion to sleep, most fair Callipolis,” 1 said 
the page ; and in so saying, he edged his chair towards the seat 
of the fair querist. 

“ Nay, but keep your distance, most gallant sir,” answered the 
blue-eyed maiden ; “ for, unless I greatly mistake, these reverend 
ladies will soon interrupt our amicable conference, if the ac- 
quaintance they recommend shall seem to proceed beyond a cer- 

system of discipline, and an apology, and became the rallying point for the 
scattered adherents of reform. In 1530 he became minister and professor of 
theology at Geneva. His severity in reforming morals caused him to be 
banished in 1538; in 1540 the Genevans begged him to return, and from 
1541 to his death he reigned over Geneva, suppressing all opposition as 
heresy, and making that city the center of the Protestantism of Europe. 

l A character in The Battle of Alcazar, a drama by Peele, 1584 (see 
Shakespeare’s Henry IV., Part II., act ii., sc. 4). 


124 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


0 

tain point ; so, fair sir, be pleased to abide by your station, and 
reply to my questions. By what achievements did you prove the 
qualities of a page, which you had thus happily acquired? ” 

Roland, who began to enter into the tone and spirit of the 
damsel’s conversation, replied to her with becoming spirit. 

“ In no feat, fair gentlewoman, was I found inexpert wherein 
there was mischief implied. I shot swans, hunted cats, frightened 
serving women, chased the deer, and robbed the orchard. I say 
nothing of tormenting the chaplain in various ways, for that was 
my duty as a good Catholic.” 

“Now, as I am a gentlewoman,” said Catherine, “I think 
these heretics have done Catholic penance in entertaining so all- 
accomplished a serving man. And what, fair sir, might have 
been the unhappy event which deprived them of an inmate alto- 
gether so estimable? ” 

“Truly, fair gentlewoman,” answered the youth, “your real 
proverb says that the longest lane will have a turning, and mine 
was more, — it was, in fine, a turning-off.” 

“ Good! ” said the merry young maiden, “it is an apt play on 
the word. And what occasion was taken for so important a 
catastrophe? Nay, start not for my learning; I do know the 
schools. In plain phrase, why were you sent from service? ” 

The page shrugged his shoulders while he replied, “A short 
tale is soon told, and a short horse soon curried. I made the 
falconer’s boy taste of my switch, — the falconer threatened to 
make me brook his cudgel . 1 He is a kindly clown as well as 
a stout, and I would rather have been cudgeled by him than any 
man in Christendom to choose ; but I knew not his qualities at 
that time, so I threatened to make him brook the stab, and my 
Lady made me brook the ‘ Begone ;’ so adieu to the page’s office 
and the fair Castle of Avenel. I had not traveled far before I 
met my venerable parent. And so tell your tale, fair gentle- 
woman, for mine is done.” 

“A happy grandmother,” said the maiden, “who had the luck 
1 “ Brook his cudgel,” i.e., endure his club. 


THE ABBOT. 


I2 5 


to find the stray page just when his mistress had slipped his leash, 
and a most lucky page that has jumped at once from a page to 
an old lady’s gentleman usher!” 

“ All this is nothing of your history,” answered Roland Graeme, 
who began to be much interested in the congenial vivacity of 
this facetious young gentlewoman ; “ tale for tale is fellow-travel- 
er’s justice.” 

“ Wait till we are fellow-travelers, then,” replied Catherine. 

“Nay, you escape me not so,” said the page; “if you deal 
not justly by me, I will call out to Dame Bridget, or whatever 
your dame be called, and proclaim you for a cheat.” 

“You shall not need,” answered the maiden. “ My history is 
the counterpart of your own ; the same words might almost serve, 
change but dress and name. I am called Catherine Seyton, and 
I also am an orphan.” 

“ Have your parents been long dead? ” 

“ That is the only question,” said she, throwing down her fine 
eyes with a sudden expression of sorrow, “ that is the only ques- 
tion I cannot laugh at.” 

“ And Dame Bridget is your grandmother? ” 

The sudden cloud passed away like that which crosses for an 
instant the summer sun, and she answered with her usual lively 
expression, “Worse by twenty degrees! Dame Bridget is my 
maiden aunt.” 

“Over gods forbode ! ” said Roland. “Alas! that you have 
such a tale to tell! And what horror comes next? ” 

“Your own history exactly. I was taken upon trial for 
service ” — 

“ And turned off for pinching the duenna , 1 or affronting my 
lady’s waiting woman? ” 

“ Nay, our history varies there,” said the damsel. “ Our mis- 
tress broke up house, or had her house broke up, which is the 
same thing, and I am a free woman of the forest.” 2 

1 An elderly woman employed to guard a younger one. 

2 Reference to the outlaws in the forests of mediaeval Britain. 


1 26 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ And I am as glad of it as if any one had lined my doublet 
with cloth of gold,” 1 said the youth. 

“ I thank you for your mirth,” said she, “ but the matter is not 
likely to concern you.” 

“Nay, but go on,” said the page, “for you will be presently 
interrupted. The two good dames have been soaring yonder on 
the balcony, like two old hooded crows, and their croak grows 
hoarser as night comes on ; they will wing to roost presently. 
This mistress of yours, fair gentlewoman, who was she, in God’s 
name? ” 

“Oh, she has a fair name in the world,” replied Catherine 
Seyton. “ Few ladies kept a fairer house, or held more gentle- 
women in her household ; my Aunt Bridget was one of her house- 
keepers. We never saw our mistress’s blessed face, to be sure, 
but we heard enough of her ; were up early and down late, and 
were kept to long prayers and light food.” 

“ Out upon the penurious old beldam! ” said the page. 

“ For Heaven’s sake, blaspheme not! ” said the girl with an ex- 
pression of fear. “ God pardon us both ! I meant no harm. 
I speak of our blessed St. Catherine of Sienna ! 2 May God for- 
give me that I spoke so lightly, and made you do a great sin and 
a great blasphemy! This was her nunnery, in which there were 
twelve nuns and an abbess. My aunt was the abbess, till the 
heretics turned all adrift.” 

“And where are your companions? ” asked the youth. 

“ With the last year’s snow,” 3 answered the maiden : “ east, 
north, south, and west ; some to France, some to Flanders, some, 
I fear, into the world and its pleasures. We have got permission 

1 “ Cloth of gold,” i.e., cloth of which fine gold thread forms either the 
pattern or the whole fabric. 

2 Born, 1347, at Sienna. In 1365 she received the habit of the third 
order of St. Dominic. She induced Pope Gregory XI. to restore the pon- 
tifical throne to Rome from Avignon. She died in 1380, and was canonized 
in 1461. 

3 “ With,” etc., a phrase used by Francis Villon, in his Ballade of Dead 
Ladies, to express the vanishing of earthly things. 


THE ABBOT. 


2 7 


to remain, or, rather, our remaining has been connived at, for my 
aunt has great relations among the Kerrs , 1 and they have threat- 
ened a death feud if any one touches us ; and bow and spear 
are the best warrant in these times.” 

“ Nay, then, you sit under a sure shadow,” 2 said the youth. 
“And I suppose you wept yourself blind when St. Catherine 
broke up housekeeping before you had taken arles 3 in her ser- 
vice? ” 

“ Hush! for Heaven’s sake,” said the damsel, crossing herself, 
“no more of that! But I have not quite cried my eyes out,” 
said she, turning them upon him, and instantly again bending 
them upon her work. It was one of those glances which would 
require the threefold plate of brass around the heart, more than 
it is needed by the mariners, to whom Horace 4 recommends it. 
Our youthful page had no defense whatever to offer. 

“ What say you, Catherine,” he said, “ if we two, thus strangely 
turned out of service at the same time, should give our two most 
venerable duennas the torch to hold, while we walk a merry 
measure with each other over the floor of this weary world? ” 

“ A goodly proposal, truly,” said Catherine, “ and worthy the 
madcap brain of a discarded page! And what shifts does your 
worship propose we should live by? By singing ballads, cutting 
purses , 5 or swaggering on the highway? for there, I think, you 
would find your most productive exchequer.” 

1 An ancient family having a seat at Fernihurst, in the parish of Jed- 
burgh, near Melrose. 

2 “ You sit,” etc., i.e., you are under safe protection. 

3 Money paid to render a bargain binding. 

4 Horatius Flaccus (65-68 B.C.), a Roman poet, famous for his witty and 
worldly odes and satires. The passage to which reference is made is taken 
from the third ode of his first book, in which he congratulates Virgil on his 
courage in taking a sea voyage, and says that the first mariner must have 
worn aes triplex (triple brass) about his heart. 

5 “Cutting purses,” i.e., picking pockets; from the practice of cutting 
purses to steal out the contents, said to have prevailed when men wore purses 
suspended at their girdles. 


128 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“Choose, you proud peat !” 1 said the page, drawing off in 
huge disdain at the calm and unembarrassed ridicule with which 
his wild proposal was received. And as he spoke the words, 
the casement was again darkened by the forms of the matrons ; 
it opened, and admitted Magdalen Graeme and the Mother 
Abbess — so we must now style her — into the apartment. 


CHAPTER XII. 


HEN the matrons reentered, and put an end to the conver- 



V V sation which we have detailed in the last chapter, Dame 
Magdalen Graeme thus addressed her grandson and his pretty 
companion: “Have you spoke together, my children? Have 
you become known to each other as fellow-travelers on the 
same dark and dubious road, whom chance hath brought to- 
gether, and who study to learn the tempers and dispositions of 
those by whom their perils are to be shared ? ” 

It was seldom the light-hearted Catherine could suppress a 
jest, so that she often spoke when she would have acted more 
wisely in holding her peace. 

“Your grandson admires the journey which you propose so 
very greatly, that he was even now preparing for setting out 
upon it instantly.” 

“ This is to be too forward, Roland,” said the dame, address- 
ing him, “ as yesterday you were over-slack ; the just mean lies 
in obedience, which both waits for the signal to start, and obeys 
it when given. But once again, my children, have you so pe- 
rused each other’s countenances, that when you meet, in what- 
ever disguise the times may impose upon you, you may recognize 
each in the other the secret agent of the mighty work in which 
you are to be leagued? Look at each other, know each line 
and lineament of each other’s countenance. Learn to distin- 


1 A pet ; hence, one spoiled by indulgence. 


THE ABBOT. 


2 9 


guish by the step, by the sound of the voice, by the motion 
of the hand, by the glance of the eye, the partner whom Heaven 
hath sent to aid in working its will. Wilt thou know that maiden 
whensoever or wheresoever you shall again meet her, my Roland 
Graeme ? ” 

As readily as truly did Roland answer in the affirmative. “And 
thou, my daughter, wilt thou again remember the features of 
this youth ? ” 

“ Truly, mother,” replied Catherine Seyton. “ I have not 
seen so many men of late, that I should immediately forget your 
grandson, though I mark not much about him that is deserving 
of special remembrance.” 

“Join hands, then, my children,” said Magdalen Graeme, 
but, in saying so, was interrupted by her companion, whose 
conventual prejudices had been gradually giving her more and 
more uneasiness, and who could remain acquiescent no longer. 

“ Nay, my good sister, you forget,” said she to Magdalen, 
“ Catherine is the betrothed bride of Heaven ; 1 these intimacies 
cannot be.” 

“It is in the cause of Heaven that I command them to em- 
brace,” said Magdalen with the full force of her powerful voice. 
“ The end, sister, sanctifies the means we must use.” 

“ They call me Lady Abbess, or Mother at the least, who ad- 
dress me,” said Dame Bridget, drawing herself up as if offended 
at her friend’s authoritative manner. “ The Lady of Heathergill 
forgets that she speaks to the Abbess of St. Catherine.” 

“ When I was what you call me,” said Magdalen, “ you indeed 
were the Abbess of St. Catherine ; but both names are now 
gone, with all the rank that the world and that the Church gave 
to them, and we are now, to the eye of human judgment, two 
poor, despised, oppressed women, dragging our dishonored old 
age to a humble grave. But what are we in the eye of Heaven? 
Ministers, sent forth to work his will, in whose weakness the 

1 “Betrothed,” etc., i.e., a novice; one who has entered a convent on 
probation, but has taken no binding vows. 

9 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


130 

strength of the Church shall be manifested, before whom shall 
be humbled the wisdom of Murray and the dark strength of 
Morton. And to such wouldst thou apply the narrow rules of 
thy cloistered seclusion? or hast thou forgotten the order which 
I showed thee from thy Superior, subjecting thee to me in these 
matters ? ” 

“ On thy head, then, be the scandal and the sin,” said the 
Abbess sullenly. 

“ On mine be they both,” said Magdalen. “ I say, embrace 
each other, my children.” 

But Catherine, aware, perhaps, how the dispute was likely to 
terminate, had escaped from the apartment, and so disappointed 
the grandson at least as much as the old matron. 

“ She is gone,” said the Abbess, “ to provide some little refresh- 
ment. But it will have little savor to those who dwell in the 
world ; for I, at least, cannot dispense with the rules to which I 
am vowed, because it is the will of wicked men to break down 
the sanctuary in which they were wont to be observed.” 

“ It is well, my sister,” replied Magdalen, “ to pay each even 
the smallest tithes 1 of mint and cummin 2 which the Church 
demands, and I blame not thy scrupulous observance of the rules 
of thine order. But they were established by the Church, and 
for the Church’s benefit ; and reason it is that they should give 
way when the salvation of the Church herself is at stake.” 

The Abbess made no reply. 

One more acquainted with human nature than the inexperi- 
enced page might have found amusement in comparing the 
different kinds of fanaticism which these two females exhibited. 
The Abbess, timid, narrow-minded, and discontented, clung to 
ancient usages and pretensions, which were ended by the Ref- 
ormation , 3 and was in adversity, as she had been in prosperity, 

1 A tenth of the produce of the land allotted to the clergy for their support. 

2 A fennel-like plant, cultivated for its aromatic fruit (see Matt, xxiji. 23). 

3 The great religious movement of the sixteenth century, which led to the 
establishment of Protestantism. 


THE ABBOT. 


131 

scrupulous, weak-spirited, and bigoted ; while the fiery and more 
lofty spirit of her companion suggested a wider field of effort, 
and would not be limited by ordinary rules in the extraordinary 
schemes which were suggested by her bold and irregular imagi- 
nation. But Roland Grseme, instead of tracing these peculiari- 
ties of character in the two old dames, only waited with great 
anxiety for the return of Catherine, expecting probably that 
the proposal of the fraternal embrace would be renewed, as his 
grandmother seemed disposed to carry matters with a high hand. 

His expectations, or hopes, if we may call them so, were, 
however, disappointed ; for when Catherine reentered on the 
summons of the Abbess, and placed on the table an earthen 
pitcher of water, and four wooden platters, with cups of the 
same materials, the Dame of Heathergill, satisfied with the arbi- 
trary mode in which she had borne down the opposition of 
the Abbess, pursued her victory no further, — a moderation for 
which her grandson, in his heart, returned her but slender thanks. 

In the mean while, Catherine continued to place upon the table 
the slender preparations for the meal of a recluse, which con- 
sisted almost entirely of colewort , 1 boiled, and served up in a 
wooden platter, having no better seasoning than a little salt, and 
no better accompaniment than some coarse barley bread, in 
very moderate quantity. The water pitcher, already mentioned, 
furnished the only beverage. After a Latin grace, delivered by 
the Abbess, the guests sat down to their spare entertainment. 
The simplicity of the fare appeared to produce no distaste in 
the females, who ate of it moderately, but with the usual appear- 
ance of appetite. But Roland Grseme had been used to better 
cheer. Sir Halbert Glendinning, who affected even an unusual 
degree of nobleness in his housekeeping, maintained it in a style 
of genial hospitality which rivaled that of the northern barons of 
England. He might think, perhaps, that by doing so he acted 
yet more completely the part for which he was born, — that of a 
great baron and a leader. Two bullocks and six sheep weekly 

1 Cabbage. 


1 3 2 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


were the allowance when the baron was at home, and the number 
was not greatly diminished during his absence. A boll 1 of malt 
was weekly brewed into ale, which was used by the household at 
discretion. Bread was baked in proportion for the consumption 
of his domestics and retainers. And in this scene of plenty had 
Roland Graeme now lived for several years. It formed a bad 
introduction to lukewarm greens and spring water; and probably 
his countenance indicated some sense of the difference, for the 
Abbess observed, “ It would seem, my son, that the tables of 
the heretic baron, whom you have so long followed, are more 
daintily furnished than those of the suffering daughters of the 
Church ; and yet, not upon the most solemn nights of festival, 
when the nuns were permitted to eat their portion at mine own 
table, did I consider the cates, which were then served up, as 
half so delicious as these vegetables and this water, on which I 
prefer to feed rather than do aught which may derogate from 
the strictness of my vow. It shall never be said that the mis- 
tress of this house made it a house of feasting when days of 
darkness and of affliction were hanging ovef the Holy Church 
of which I am an unworthy member.” 

“Well hast thou said, my sister,” replied Magdalen Graeme; 
“ but now it is not only time to suffer in the good cause, but to 
act in it. And since our pilgrim’s meal is finished, let us go 
apart to prepare for our journey to-morrow, and to advise on 
the manner in which these children shall be employed, and what 
measures we can adopt to supply their thoughtlessness and lack 
of discretion.” 


Notwithstanding his indifferent cheer, the heart of Roland 
Graeme bounded high at this proposal, which he doubted not 
would lead to another tete-a-tete 2 betwixt him and the pretty 
novice. But he was mistaken. Catherine, it would seem, had 
no mind so far to indulge him ; for, moved either by delicacy 


1 A bow : an old Scotch dry measure equal to from four to six bushels. 

2 French, meaning “ head to head: ” i.e., face to face; a private conver- 
sation between two persons. 


THE ABBOT. 


*33 


or caprice, or some of those indescribable shades betwixt the 
one and the other, with which women love to tease, and at the 
same time to captivate, the ruder sex, she reminded the Abbess 
that it was necessary she should retire for an hour before ves- 
pers ; and, receiving the ready and approving nod of her Supe- 
rior, she arose to withdraw. But before leaving the apartment, 
she made obeisance to the matrons, bending herself till her hands 
touched her knees, and then made a lesser reverence to Roland, 
which consisted in a slight bend of the body and gentle depression 
of the head. This she performed very demurely ; but the party 
on whom the salutation was conferred thought he could discern 
in her manner an arch and mischievous exultation over his secret 
disappointment. “The devil take the saucy girl!” he thought in 
his heart, though the presence of the Abbess should have re- 
pressed all such profane imaginations. “ She is as hard-hearted as 
the laughing hyena that the storybooks tell of. She has a mind 
that I shall not forget her this night at least.” 

The matrons now retired also, giving the page to understand 
that he was on no account to stir from the convent, or to show 
himself at the windows, the Abbess assigning as a reason the 
readiness with which the rude heretics caught at every occasion 
of scandalizing the religious orders. 

“ This is worse than the rigor of Mr. Henry Warden himself,” 
said the page, when he was left alone; “for, to do him justice, 
however strict in requiring the most rigid attention during the time 
of his homilies, he left us to the freedom of our own wills after- 
wards ; ay, and would take a share in our pastimes, too, if he 
thought them entirely innocent. But these old women are utterly 
wrapped up in gloom, mystery, and self-denial. Well, then, if I 
must neither stir out of the gate nor look out at window, I 
will at least see what the inside of the house contains that may 
help to pass away one’s time. Peradventure I may light on that 
blue-eyed laugher in some corner or other.” 

Going, therefore, out of the chamber by the entrance opposite 
to that through which the two matrons had departed (for it may 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


*34 

be readily supposed that he had no desire to intrude on their 
privacy), he wandered from one chamber to another, through 
the deserted edifice, seeking, with boyish eagerness, some source 
of interest or amusement. Here he passed through a long gal- 
lery, opening on either hand into the little cells of the nuns, all 
deserted, and deprived of the few trifling articles of furniture 
which the rules of the order admitted. 

“ The birds are flown,” thought the page ; “ but whether they 
will find themselves worse off in the open air than in these damp, 
narrow cages, I leave my Lady Abbess and my venerable relative 
to settle betwixt them. I think the wild young lark whom they 
have left behind them would like best to sing under God’s free 
sky.” 

A winding stair, strait and narrow, as if to remind the nuns 
of their duties of fast and maceration, led down to a lower 
suite of apartments which occupied the ground story of the 
house. These rooms were even more ruinous than those which 
he had left ; for, having encountered the first fury of the assailants 
by whom the nunnery had been wasted, the windows had been 
dashed in, the doors broken down, and even the partitions be- 
twixt the apartments, in some places, destroyed. As he thus 
stalked from desolation to desolation, and began to think of re- 
turning from so uninteresting a research to the chamber which 
he had left, he was surprised to hear the low of a cow very close 
to him. The sound was so unexpected at the time and place, 
that Roland Graeme started as if it had been the voice of a lion, 
and laid his hand on his dagger, while at the same moment the 
light and lovely form of Catherine Seyton presented itself at the 
door of the apartment from which the sound had issued. 

“ Good-even to you, valiant champion ! ” said she. “ Since 
the days of Guy of Warwick , 1 never was one more worthy to 
encounter a dun cow.” 

Cow? ” said Roland Graeme. “ By my faith, I thought it had 

1 car ly Anglo-Saxon hero, said to have lived about 890-958. Among 
other mighty deeds, he killed the Dun Cow of Dunsmore Heath. 


THE ABBOT. 135 

been the Devil that roared so near me. Who ever heard of a 
convent containing a cow house ? ” 

“ Cow and calf may come hither now,” answered Catherine, 
“ for we have no means to keep out either. But I advise you, 
kind sir, to return to the place from whence you came.” 

“ Not till I see your charge, fair sister,’ 7 answered Roland, and 
made his way into the apartment, in spite of the half serious, half 
laughing remonstrances of the girl. 

The poor solitary cow, now the only severe recluse within the 
nunnery, was quartered in a spacious chamber which had once 
been the refectory 1 of the convent. The roof was graced with 
groined arches, and the wall with niches from which the images 
had been pulled down. These remnants of architectural orna- 
ments were strangely contrasted with the rude crib constructed 
for the cow in one corner of the apartment, and the stack of 
fodder which was piled beside it for her food. 

“ By my faith,” said the page, “ Crombie is more lordly lodged 
than any one here ! ” 

“ You had best remain with her,” said Catherine, “and supply 
by your filial attentions the offspring she has had the ill luck to 
lose.” 

“ I will remain, at least, to help you to prepare her night’s lair, 
pretty Catherine,” said Roland, seizing upon a pitchfork. 

“ By no means,” said Catherine ; “ for, besides that you know 
not in the least how to do her that service, you will bring a chid- 
ing my way, and I get enough of that in the regular course of 
things.” 

“ What ! for accepting my assistance ? ” said the page ; “ for 
accepting my assistance, who am to be your confederate in some 
deep matter of import ? That were altogether unreasonable ; 
and, now I think on it, tell me, if you can, what is this mighty 
emprise to which I am destined ? ” 

“ Robbing a bird’s nest, I should suppose,” said Catherine, 
“ considering the champion whom they have selected.” 

1 The dining-room of a convent. 


136 


SIR WALTER SCOTT, \ 


“By my faith,” said the youth, “and he that has taken a 
falcon’s nest in the Scaurs 1 of Polmoodie has done something to 
brag of, my fair sister. But that is all over now ; a murrain 2 on 
the nest, and the eyases and their food, washed or unwashed, 
for it was all anon of 3 cramming these worthless kites that I was 
sent upon my present travels. Save that I have met with you, 
pretty sister, I could eat my dagger hilt for vexation at my own 
folly. But, as we are to be fellow- travelers ” — 

“Fellow-laborers, not fellow-travelers!” answered the girl; 
“ for to your comfort be it known that the Lady Abbess and I 
set out earlier than you and your respected relative to-morrow, 
and that I partly endure your company at present because it 
may be long ere we meet again.” 

“ By St. Andrew, but it shall not, though,” answered Roland ; 
“ I will not hunt at all unless we are to hunt in couples.” 

“ I suspect, in that and in other points, we must do as we are 
bid,” replied the young lady. “ But, hark ! I hear my aunt’s 
voice.” 

The old lady entered in good earnest, and darted a severe 
glance at her niece, while Roland had the ready wit to busy 
himself about the halter of the cow. 

“The young gentleman,” said Catherine gravely, “is helping 
me to tie the cow up faster to her stake, for I find that last night 
when she put her head out of window and lowed, she alarmed 
the whole village ; and we shall be suspected of sorcery among 
the heretics if they do not discover the cause of the apparition, 
or lose our cow if they do.” 

“ Relieve yourself of that fear,” said the Abbess, somewhat 
ironically ; “ the person to whom she is now sold comes for the 
animal presently.” 

“ Good-night, then, my poor companion,” said Catherine, 
patting the animal’s shoulders. “ I hope thou hast fallen into 

1 Precipitous banks or rocks. 

2 A disease of animals ; often invoked as an imprecation. 

3 “Anon of,” i.e., about. 


THE ABBOT. 


x 37 


kind hands, for my happiest hours of late have been spent in 
tending thee. I would I had been born to no better task!” 

“ Now, out upon thee, mean-spirited wench! ” said the Abbess. 
“ Is that a speech worthy of the name of Seyton, or of the mouth 
of a sister of this house, treading the path of election , 1 — and to 
be spoken before a stranger youth, too? Go to my oratory, 
minion! There read your Hours 2 till I come thither, when I 
will read you such a lecture as shall make you prize the bless- 
ings which you possess.” 

Catherine was about to withdraw in silence, casting a half 
sorrowful, half comic glance at Roland Graeme, which seemed 
to say, “ You see to what your untimely visit has exposed me,” 
when, suddenly changing her mind, she came forward to the 
page, and extended her hand as she bid him good-evening. 
Their palms had pressed each other ere the astonished matron 
could interfere, and Catherine had time to say, “ Forgive me, 
mother ; it is long since we have seen a face that looked with 
kindness on us. Since these disorders have broken up our 
peaceful retreat, all has been gloom and malignity. I bid this 
youth kindly farewell because he has come hither in kindness, 
and because the odds are great that we may never again meet 
in this world. I guess better than he that the schemes on which 
you are rushing are too mighty for your management, and that 
you are now setting the stone a-rolling which must surely crush 
you in its descent. I bid farewell,” she added, “ to my fellow- 
victim ! ” 

This was spoken with a tone of deep and serious feeling, alto- 
gether different from the usual levity of Catherine’s manner, and 
plainly showed that beneath the giddiness of extreme youth and 
total inexperience there lurked in her bosom a deeper power of 
sense and feeling than her conduct had hitherto expressed. 

The Abbess remained a moment silent after she had left the 

1 In theology, the choice by God of individuals either to enjoy his grace 
or to perform a particular task. 

2 The prayers appointed by the Church for the seven periods of the day. 


3 » 


.SOT WALTER SCOTT. 


room. The proposed rebuke died on her tongue, and she ap- 
peared struck with the deep and foreboding tone in which her 
niece had spoken her good-even. She led the way in silence to 
the apartment which they had formerly occupied, and where 
there was prepared a small refection, as the Abbess termed it, 
consisting of milk and barley bread. Magdalen Graeme, sum- 
moned to take share in this collation, appeared from an adjoining 
apartment, but Catherine was seen no more. There was little 
said during the hasty meal, and after it was finished, Roland 
Graeme was dismissed to the nearest cell, where some preparations 
had been made for his repose. 

The strange circumstances in which he found himself had their 
usual effect in preventing slumber from hastily descending on 
him, and he could distinctly hear, by a low but earnest murmur- 
ing in the apartment which he had left, that the matrons contin- 
ued in deep consultation to a late hour. As they separated, he 
heard the Abbess distinctly express herself thus : “In a word, 
my sister, I venerate your character and the authority with which 
my Superiors have invested you ; yet it seems to me that, ere 
entering on this perilous course, we should consult some of the 
fathers of the Church.” 

“ And how and where are we to find a faithful bishop or abbot 
at whom to ask counsel? The faithful Eustatius is no more ; he 
is withdrawn from a world of evil, and from the tyranny of here- 
tics. May Heaven and Our Lady assoilzie 1 him of his sins, and 
abridge the penance of his mortal infirmities! Where shall we 
find another with whom to take counsel ? ” 

“ Heaven will provide for the Church,” said the Abbess ; “ and 
the faithful fathers who yet are suffered to remain in the house 
of Kennaquhair will proceed to elect an abbot. They will not 
suffer the staff 2 to fall down, or the miter 3 to be unfilled, for the 
threats of heresy.” 

1 Scotch form of “ assoil ; ” to absolve, pardon. 

2 The crosier, or staff of office of an abbot or bishop. 

3 A headcovering worn by high-church dignitaries. 


THE ABBOT. 


139 


“That will I learn to morrow,” said Magdalen Graeme; “yet 
who now takes the office of an hour, save to partake with the 
spoilers in their work of plunder? To-morrow will tell us if one 
of the thousand saints who are sprung from the House of St. 
Mary’s continues to look down on it in its misery. Farewell, my 
sister. We meet at Edinburgh.” 

“ Benedicite / ” answered the Abbess, and they parted. 

“ To Kennaquhair and to Edinburgh we bend our way,” 
thought Roland Graeme. “ That information have I purchased by 
a sleepless hour. It suits well with my purpose. At Kennaquhair 
I shall see Father Ambrose ; at Edinburgh I shall find the means 
of shaping my own course through this bustling world, without 
burdening my affectionate relation. At Edinburgh, too, I shall 
see again the witching novice, with her blue eyes and her pro- 
voking smile.” He fell asleep, and it was to dream of Catherine 
Seyton. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

R OLAND GRHlME slept long and sound, and the sun 
was high over the horizon when the voice of his compan- 
ion summoned him to resume their pilgrimage ; and when, has- 
tily arranging his dress, he went to attend her call, the enthusi- 
astic matron stood already at the threshold, prepared for her 
journey. There was in all the deportment of this remarkable 
woman a promptitude of execution and a sternness of perse- 
verance, founded on the fanaticism which she nursed so deeply, 
and which seemed to absorb all the ordinary purposes and feelings 
of mortality. One only human affection gleamed through her 
enthusiastic energies, like the broken glimpses of the sun through 
the rising clouds of a storm.- It was her maternal fondness for 
her grandson ; a fondness carried almost to the verge of dotage 
in circumstances where the Catholic religion was not concerned, 
but which gave way instantly when it chanced either to thwart 


140 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


or come in contact with the more settled purpose of her soul and 
the more devoted duty of her life. Her life she would willingly 
have laid down to save the earthly object of her affection ; but 
that object itself she was ready to hazard and would have been 
willing to sacrifice, could the restoration of the Church of Rome 
have been purchased with his blood. Her discourse by the 
way, excepting on the few occasions in which her extreme love 
of her grandson found opportunity to display itself in anxiety 
for his health and accommodation, turned entirely on the duty 
of raising up the fallen honors of the Church, and replacing a 
Catholic sovereign on the throne. There were times at which 
she hinted, though very obscurely and distantly, that she herself 
was foredoomed by Heaven to perform a part in this important 
task ; and that she had more than mere human warranty for the 
zeal with which she engaged in it. But on this subject she ex- 
pressed herself in such general language, that it was not easy to 
decide whether she made any actual pretensions to a direct and 
supernatural call, like the celebrated Elizabeth Barton, commonly 
called the Nun of Kent ; 1 or whether she only dwelt upon the 
general duty which was incumbent on all Catholics of the time, 
and the pressure of which she felt in an extraordinary degree. 

Yet, though Magdalen Graeme gave no direct intimation of 
her pretensions to be considered as something beyond the or- 
dinary class of mortals, the demeanor of one or two persons 
amongst the travelers whom they occasionally met, as they entered 
the more fertile and populous part of the valley, seemed to indi- 
cate their belief in her superior attributes. It is true that two 
clowns, who drove before them a herd of cattle ; one or two vil- 
lage wenches, who seemed bound for some merrymaking ; a stroll- 
ing soldier, in a rusted morion ; and a wandering student, as his 
threadbare black cloak and his satchel of books proclaimed him, 
passed our travelers without observation, or with a look of con- 

1 A fanatic nun, who pretended to the gift of prophecy. Having pro- 
nounced the doom of speedy death against Henry VIII. for his marriage 
with Anne Boleyn, the prophetess was executed. 


THE ABBOT. 


41 


tempt ; and, moreover, that two or three children, attracted by 
the appearance of a dress so nearly resembling that of a pilgrim, 
joined in hooting and calling, “ Out upon the mass-monger ! ” 
But one or two, who nourished in their bosoms respect for the 
downfallen hierarchy, casting first a timorous glance around, to 
see that no one observed them, hastily crossed themselves, bent 
their knee to Sister Magdalen, by which name they saluted her, 
kissed her hand, or even the hem of her dalmatique, received 
with humility the benedicite with which she repaid their obei- 
sance, and then starting up, and again looking timidly around to 
see that they had been unobserved, hastily resumed their journey. 
Even while within sight of persons of the prevailing faith, there 
were individuals bold enough, by folding their arms and bending 
their head, to give distant and silent intimation that they recog- 
nized Sister Magdalen, and honored alike her person and her 
purpose. 

She failed not to notice to her grandson these marks of honor 
and respect which from time to time she received. “You see,” 
she said, “ my son, that the enemies have been unable altogether 
to suppress the good spirit, or to root out the true seed. Amid 
heretics and schismatics, spoilers of the Church’s lands, and scoff- 
ers at saints and sacraments, there is left a remnant.” 

“ It is true, my mother,” said Roland Graeme ; “ but methinks 
they are of a quality which can help us but little. See you not 
all those who wear steel at their side, and bear marks of better 
quality, ruffle 1 past as they would pass the meanest beggars? For 
those who give us any marks of sympathy are the poorest of the 
poor, and most outcast of the needy, who have neither bread to 
share with us, nor swords to defend us, nor skill to use them if 
they had. That poor wretch that last kneeled to you with such 
deep devotion, and who seemed emaciated by the touch of some 
wasting disease within, and the grasp of poverty without, — that 
pale, shivering, miserable caitiff, — how can he aid the great 
schemes you meditate ? ” 


Swagger. 


142 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Much, my son,” said the matron, with more mildness than the 
page perhaps expected. “ When that pious son of the Church 
returns from the shrine of St. Ringan , 1 whither he now travels 
by my counsel, and by the aid of good Catholics, — when he re- 
turns, healed of his wasting malady, high in health, and strong 
in limb, will not the glory of his faithfulness, and its miraculous 
reward, speak louder in the ears of this besotted people of Scot- 
land, than the din which is weekly made in a thousand heretical 
pulpits ? ” 

“ Ay, but, mother, I fear the Saint’s hand is out . 2 It is long 
since we have heard of a miracle performed at St. Ringan’s.” 

The matron made a dead pause, and, with a voice tremulous 
with emotion, asked, “Art thou so unhappy as to doubt the power 
of the blessed Saint ? ” 

“ Nay, mother,” the youth hastened to reply, “ I believe as the 
Holy Church commands, and doubt not St. Ringan’s power 
of healing ; but, be it said with reverence, he hath not of late 
showed the inclination.” 

“ And has this land deserved it ? ” said the Catholic matron, 
advancing hastily while she spoke, until she attained the summit 
of a rising ground, over which the path led, and then standing 
again still. “ Here,” she said, “ stood the cross, the limits of 
the Halidome of St. Mary’s, — here, on this eminence from which 
the eye of the holy pilgrim might first catch a view of that an- 
cient Monastery, the light of the land, the abode of saints, and 
the grave of monarchs. Where is now that emblem of our faith? 
It lies on the earth, a shapeless block from which the broken 
fragments have been carried off for the meanest uses, till now no 
semblance of its original form remains. Look towards the east, 
my son, where the sun was wont to glitter on stately spires, from 
which crosses and bells have now been hurled, as if the land had 
been invaded once more by barbarous heathens. Look at yonder 

1 Also called St. Ninian. A Briton who introduced Christianity among 
the Piets in the Lowlands of Scotland, early in the fifth century. 

2 Out of practice. 


THE ABBOT. 


*43 


battlements, of which we can, even at this distance, descry the 
partial demolition ; and ask if this land can expect from the blessed 
saints, whose shrines and whose images have been profaned, any 
other miracles but those of vengeance ! How long,” she ex- 
claimed, looking upward, “ how long shall it be delayed ! ” She 
paused, and then resumed with enthusiastic rapidity, “ Yes, my 
son, all on earth is but for a period, — joy and grief, triumph and 
desolation succeed each other like cloud and sunshine ; the vine- 
yard shall not be forever trodden down ; the gaps shall be 
amended, and the fruitful branches once more dressed and 
trimmed. Even this day — ay, even this hour — I trust to hear 
news of importance. Dally not — let us on — time is brief, and 
judgment is certain.” 

She resumed the path which led to the Abbey ; a path which, 
in ancient times, was carefully marked out by posts and rails, to 
assist the pilgrim in his journey. These were now torn up and 
destroyed. A half-hour’s walk placed them in front of the once 
splendid Monastery, which, although the church was as yet entire, 
had not escaped the fury of the times. The long range of cells 
and of apartments for the use of the brethren, which occupied 
two sides of the great square, were almost entirely ruinous, the 
interior having been consumed by fire, which only the massive 
architecture of the outward walls had enabled them to resist. 
The Abbot’s house, which formed the third side of the square, 
was, though injured, still inhabited, and afforded refuge to the 
few brethren who yet, rather by connivance than by actual au- 
thority, were permitted to remain at Kennaquhair. Their stately 
offices , 1 their pleasant gardens, the magnificent cloisters con- 
structed for their recreation, were all dilapidated and ruinous ; 
and some of the building materials had apparently been put into 
requisition by persons in the village and in the vicinity, who, 
formerly vassals of the Monastery, had not hesitated to appro- 
priate to themselves a part of the spoils. Roland saw fragments 
of Gothic pillars, richly carved, occupying the place of doorposts 
1 The rooms in which domestics performed the duties of a house. 


144 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


to the meanest huts ; and here and there a mutilated statue, in- 
verted or laid on its side, made the doorpost, or threshold, of a 
wretched cow house. The church itself was less injured than 
the other buildings of the Monastery. But the images which had 
been placed in the numerous niches of its columns and buttresses, 
having all fallen under the charge of idolatry, to which the su- 
perstitious devotion of the Papists had justly exposed them, had 
been broken and thrown down, without much regard to the pres- 
ervation of the rich and airy canopies and pedestals on which 
they were placed. 

Our pilgrims saw the demolition of these sacred and venerable 
representations of saints and angels — for as sacred and venerable 
they had been taught to consider them — with very different feel- 
ings. The antiquary may be permitted to regret the necessity 
of the action, but to Magdalen Graeme it seemed a deed of 
impiety, deserving the instant vengeance of Heaven ; a sentiment 
in which her relative joined for the moment as cordially as her- 
self. Neither, however, gave vent to their feelings in words, and 
uplifted hands and eyes formed their only mode of expressing 
them. The page was about to approach the great eastern gate 
of the church, but was prevented by his guide. “ That gate,” 
she said, “ has long been blockaded, that the heretical rabble may 
not know there still exist among the brethren of St. Mary’s, men 
who dare worship where their predecessors prayed while alive, 
and were interred when dead. Follow me this way, my son.” 

Roland Graeme followed accordingly ; and Magdalen, casting 
a hasty glance to see whether they were observed (for she had 
learned caution from the danger of the times), commanded her 
grandson to knock at a little wicket which she pointed out to 
him. “ But knock gently,” she added, with a motion expressive 
of caution. After a little space, during which no answer was 
returned, she signed to Roland to repeat his summons for admis- 
sion ; and the door at length partially opening, discovered a 
glimpse of the thin and timid porter, by whom the duty was per- 
formed, skulking from the observation of those who stood with- 


THE ABBOT. 


*45 


out, but endeavoring at the same time to gain a sight of them 
without being himself seen. How different from the proud con- 
sciousness of dignity with which the porter of ancient days offered 
his important brow, and his goodly person, to the pilgrims who 
repaired to Kennaquhair! His solemn “ Intrate , mei filii ,” 1 was 
exchanged for a tremulous “ You cannot enter now ; the brethren 
are in their chambers.” But when Magdalen Graeme asked, in 
an undertone of voice, “ Hast thou forgotten me, my brother ? ” 
he changed his apologetic refusal to “ Enter, my honored sister, 
enter speedily, for evil eyes are upon us.” . 

They entered accordingly, and having waited until the porter 
had, with jealous haste, barred and bolted the wicket, were con- 
ducted by him through several dark and winding passages. As 
they walked slowly on, he spoke to the matron in a subdued 
voice, as if he feared to trust the very walls with the avowal 
which he communicated. 

“ Our fathers are assembled in the chapter house, worthy 
sister, — yes, in the chapter house, for the election of an abbot. 
Ah, benedicite! there must be no ringing of bells, no high mass, 
no opening of the great gates now, that the people might see and 
venerate their spiritual father! Our fathers must hide them- 
selves rather like robbers who choose a leader, than godly priests 
who elect a mitered abbot.” 

“ Regard not that, mv brother,” answered Magdalen Graeme ; 
“the first successors of St. Peter himself were elected, not in 
sunshine, but in tempest, — not in the halls of the Vatican , 1 2 
but in the subterranean vaults and dungeons of heathen Rome ; 
they were not gratulated with shouts and salvos of cannon shot 
and of musketry, and the display of artificial fire ; 3 no, my brother, 
but by the hoarse summons of lictors 4 and praetors, who came 
to drag the fathers of the Church to martyrdom. From such 

1 Enter, my sons. 2 The palace of the Pope in Rome. 

3 Fireworks. 

4 The official attendant of the old Roman praetors, or officers charged with 
the administration of justice. 

IO 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


146 

adversity was the Church once raised, and by such will it now 
be purified. And mark me, brother! not in the proudest days 
of the mitered Abbey was a Superior ever chosen whom his 
office shall so much honor, as he shall be honored who now takes 
it upon him in these days of tribulation. On whom, my brother, 
will the choice fall ? ” 

“ On whom can it fall ? or, alas! who would dare to reply to 
the call, save the worthy pupil of the Sainted Eustatius, — the 
good and valiant Father Ambrose ? ” 

“ I know it,” said Magdalen ; “ my heart told me long ere your 
lips had uttered his name. Stand forth, courageous champion, 
and man the fatal breach ! Rise, bold and experienced pilot, and 
seize the helm while the tempest rages! Turn back the battle, 
brave raiser of the fallen standard ! Wield crook and sling, 
noble shepherd of a scattered flock ! ” 

“ I pray you, hush, my sister ! ” said the porter, opening a door 
which led into the great church. “ The brethren will be presently 
here to celebrate their election with a solemn mass. I must mar- 
shal them the way to the high altar. All the offices of this ven- 
erable house have now devolved on one poor, decrepit old man.” 

He left the church, and Magdalen and Roland remained alone 
in that great vaulted space, whose style of rich yet chaste archi- 
tecture referred its origin to the early part of the fourteenth 
century, the best period 1 of Gothic building. But the niches 
were stripped of their images in the inside as well as the outside 
of the church ; and in the pell-mell havoc, the tombs of war- 
riors and of princes had been included in the demolition of the 
idolatrous shrines. Lances and swords of antique size, which 
had hung over the tombs of mighty warriors of former days, lay 
now strewn among relics 2 with which the devotion of pilgrims 

1 Called the “ decorated,” and characterized by the flowing lines of its 
tracery, and by the unconventional combinations of its carved foliage. Mel- 
rose is the most beautiful example of this style in Scotland. 

2 Parts of the garments or remains of saints or martyrs, considered as 
endowed with miraculous powers. 


THE ABBOT. 


*47 


had graced those of their peculiar saints ; and the fragments of 
the knights and dames which had once lain recumbent, or 
kneeled in an attitude of devotion, where their mortal relics were 
reposed, were mingled with those of the saints and angels of the 
Gothic 'chisel, which the hand of violence had sent headlong 
from their stations. 

The most fatal symptom of the whole appeared to be that, 
though this violence had now been committed for many months, 
the fathers had lost so totally all heart and resolution that they 
had not adventured even upon clearing away the rubbish, or re- 
storing the church to some decent degree of order. This might 
have been done without much labor. But terror had overpowered 
the scanty remains of a body once so powerful, and, sensible they 
were only suffered to remain in this ancient seat by connivance 
and from compassion, they did not venture upon taking any step 
which might be construed into an assertion of their ancient rights, 
contenting themselves with the secret and obscure exercise of 
their religious ceremonial, in as unostentatious a manner as was 
possible. 

Two or three of the more aged brethren had sunk under the 
pressure of the times, and the ruins had been partly cleared away 
to permit their interment. One stone had been laid over Father 
Nicholas , 1 which recorded of him in special that he had taken 
the vows during the incumbency of Abbot Ingelram, the period 
to which his memory so frequently recurred. Another flagstone, 
yet more recently deposited, covered the body of Philip the 
Sacristan , 2 eminent for his aquatic excursion with the phantom 
of Avenel ; and a third, the most recent of all, bore the outline 
of a miter, and the words Hie jacet Enstatius A bbas; 3 for no one 

1 In The Monastery the oldest of the monks of Kennaquhair. 

2 The officer in charge of the sacristy, where the vestments and sacred 
utensils were kept. In Chapter V. of The Monastery it is related that in an 
attempt to carry away Mary Avenel’s Bible, Father Philip was ducked in the 
Tweed and robbed of the book by the White Lady of Avenel, who haunted 
him afterwards with snatches of old songs. 

3 Here lies Eustatius the Abbot. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


148 

dared to add a word of commendation in favor of his learning, 
and strenuous zeal for the Roman Catholic faith. 

Magdalen Graeme looked at and perused the brief records of 
these monuments successively, and paused over that of Father 
Eustace. “ In a good hour for thyself,” she said, “ but oh ! in 
an evil hour for the Church, wert thou called from us. Let thy 
spirit be with us, holy man ; encourage thy successor to tread 
in thy footsteps ; give him thy bold and inventive capacity, thy 
zeal and thy discretion ; even thy piety exceeds not his.” As she 
spoke, a side door, which closed a passage from the Abbot’s 
house into the church, was thrown open, that the fathers might 
enter the choir, and conduct to the high altar the Superior whom 
they had elected. 

In former times, this was one of the most splendid of the many 
pageants which the hierarchy of Rome had devised to attract the 
veneration of the faithful. The period during which the Abbacy 
remained vacant was a state of mourning, or, as their emblemati- 
cal phrase expressed it, of widowhood ; a melancholy term, which 
was changed into rejoicing and triumph when a new Superior 
was chosen. When the folding doors were, on such solemn 
occasions, thrown open, and the new Abbot appeared on the 
threshold in full-blown dignity, with ring and miter, and dalma- 
tique and crosier, his hoary standard-bearers and his juvenile dis- 
pensers of incense preceding him, and the venerable train of 
monks behind him, with all besides which could announce the 
supreme authority to which he was now raised, his appearance 
was a signal for the magnificent jubilate 1 to rise from the organ 
and music-loft, and to be joined by the corresponding bursts of 
“Alleluiah ” 2 from the whole assembled congregation. Now all 
was changed. In the midst of rubbish and desolation, seven or 
eight old men, bent and shaken as much by grief and fear as by 

1 Rejoice! The hundredth psalm, sung as a canticle. So called from the 
first word of the Latin version. 

2 Greek form of the Hebrew halleluia (“ praise ye the Lord”) ; a word 
used in chants of praise and rejoicing. 


THE ABBOT. 


149 


age, shrouded hastily in the proscribed dress of their order, wan- 
dered, like a procession of specters, from the door which had 
been thrown open, up through the encumbered passage, to the 
high altar, there to install their elected Superior a chief of ruins. 
It was like a band of bewildered travelers choosing a chief in the 
wilderness of Arabia ; or a shipwrecked crew electing a captain 
upon the barren island on which fate has thrown them. 

They who, in peaceful times, are most ambitious of authority 
among others, shrink from the competition at such eventful pe- 
riods, when neither ease nor parade attends the possession of it, 
and when it gives only a painful preeminence both in danger and 
in labor, and exposes the ill-fated chieftain to the murmurs of his 
discontented associates, as well as to the first assault of the com- 
mon enemy. But he on whom the office of the Abbot of St. 
Mary’s was now conferred, had a mind fitted for the situation to 
which he was called. Bold and enthusiastic, yet generous and 
forgiving, wise and skillful, yet zealous and prompt, he wanted 
but a better cause than the support of a decaying superstition 
to have raised him to the rank of a truly great man. But as the 
end crowns the work, it also forms the rule by which it must be 
ultimately judged ; and those who, with sincerity and generosity, 
fight and fall in an evil cause, posterity can only compassionate 
as victims of a generous but fatal error. Amongst these we 
must rank Ambrosius, the last Abbot of Kennaquhair, whose de- 
signs must be condemned, as their success would have riveted 
on Scotland the chains of antiquated superstition and spiritual 
tyranny ; but whose talents commanded respect, and whose vir- 
tues, even from the enemies of his faith, extorted esteem. 

The bearing of the new Abbot served of itself to dignify a 
ceremonial which was deprived of all other attributes of grand- 
eur. Conscious of the peril in which they stood, and recalling, 
doubtless, the better days they had seen, there hung over his 
brethren an appearance of mingled terror, and grief, and shame, 
which induced them to hurry over the office in which they were 
engaged, as something at once degrading and dangerous. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


* 5 ° 

But not so Father Ambrose. His features, indeed, expressed 
a deep melancholy, as he walked up the center aisle, amid the 
ruin of things which he considered as holy, but his brow was un- 
dejected, and his step firm and solemn. He seemed to think 
that the dominion which he was about to receive depended in 
no sort upon the external circumstances under which it was con- 
ferred ; and if a mind so firm was accessible to sorrow or fear, 
it was not on his own account, but on that of the Church to 
which he had devoted himself. 

At length he stood on the broken steps of the high altar, bare^ 
footed, as was the rule, and holding in his hand his pastoral 
staff, for the gemmed ring and jeweled miter had become secular 
spoils. No obedient vassals came, man after man, to make their 
homage, and to offer the tribute which should provide their 
spiritual Superior with palfrey and trappings. No bishop assisted 
at the solemnity, to receive into the higher ranks of the Church 
nobility a dignitary whose voice in the legislature 1 was as poten- 
tial as his own. With hasty and maimed rites, the few remaining 
brethren stepped forward alternately to give their new Abbot the 
kiss of peace, in token of fraternal affection and spiritual homage. 
Mass was then hastily performed, but in such precipitation as if 
it had been hurried over rather to satisfy the scruples of a few 
youths who were impatient to set out on a hunting party, than 
as if it made the most solemn part of a solemn ordination. The 
officiating priest faltered as he spoke the service, and often looked 
around, as if he expected to be interrupted in the midst of his 
office ; and the brethren listened as to that which, short as it 
was, they wished yet more abridged. 

These symptoms of alarm increased as the ceremony proceeded, 
and, as it seemed, were not caused by mere apprehension alone ; 
for, amid the pauses of the hymn, there were heard without 
sounds of a very different sort, beginning faintly, and at a dis- 
tance, but at length approaching close to the exterior of the 

1 The superior clergy constituted one of the estates in the Scottish parlia- 
ment. 


THE ABBOT 


church, and stunning with dissonant clamor those engaged in the 
service. The winding of horns, blown with no regard to harmony 
or concert ; the jangling of bells, the thumping of drums, the 
squeaking of bagpipes, and the clash of cymbals; the shouts of a 
multitude, now as in laughter, now as in anger ; the shrill tones of 
female voices, and of those of children, mingling with the deeper 
clamor of men, — formed a Babel 1 of sounds, which first drowned, 
and then awed into utter silence, the official hymns of the con- 
vent. The cause and result of this extraordinary interruption 
will be explained in the next chapter. 


CHAPTER XIV. 



BE monks ceased their song, which, like that of the choris- 


JL ters in the legend of the Witch of Berkeley , 2 died away in 
a quaver of consternation ; and, like a flock of chickens disturbed 
by the presence of the kite, they at first made a movement to 
disperse and fly in different directions, and then, with despair 
rather than hope, huddled themselves around their new Abbot ; 
who, retaining the lofty and undismayed look which had dignified 
him through the whole ceremony, stood on the higher step of 
the altar, as if desirous to be the most conspicuous mark on which 
danger might discharge itself, and to save his companions by his 
self-devotion, since he could afford them no other protection. 

Involuntarily, as it were, Magdalen Graeme and the page 
stepped from the station which hitherto they had occupied un- 
noticed, and approached to the altar, as desirous of sharing the 
fate which approached the monks, whatever that might be. Both 

# 

1 See Gen. xi. Semitic name of Babylon, where the building of a tower to 
reach heaven was attempted, and where a confusion of tongues took place ; 
hence, a scene of disorder ; a confused mixture of sounds. 

.2 Reference to Southey’s ballad founded on a legend contained in Mat- 
thew of Westminster, A.D. 852. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


l S 2 

bowed reverently low to the Abbot ; and while Magdalen seemed 
about to speak, the youth, looking towards the main entrance, 
at which the noise now roared most loudly, and which was at 
the same time assailed with much knocking, laid his hand upon 
his dagger. 

The Abbot motioned to both to forbear. “ Peace, my sister,” 
he said in a low tone, but which, being in a different key from 
the tumultuary sounds without, could be distinctly heard even 
amidst the tumult. “Peace,” he said, “my sister; let the new 
Superior of St. Mary’s himself receive and reply to the grateful ac- 
clamations of the vassals who come to celebrate his installation. — 
And thou, my son, forbear, I charge thee, to touch thy earthly 
weapon ; if it is the pleasure of our protectress that her shrine 
be this day desecrated by deeds of violence, and polluted by 
bloodshedding, let it not, I charge thee, happen through the 
deed of a Catholic son of the Church.” 

The noise and knocking at the outer gate became now every 
moment louder, and voices were heard impatiently demanding 
admittance. The Abbot, with dignity, and with a step which 
even the emergency of danger rendered neither faltering nor 
precipitate, moved towards the portal, and demanded to know, 
in a tone of authority, who it was that disturbed their worship, 
and what they desired. 

There was a moment’s silence, and then a loud laugh from 
without. At length a voice replied, “We desire entrance into 
the church ; and when the door is opened, you will soon see who 
we are.” 

“ By whose authority do you require entrance ? ” said the 
father. ^ 

“By authority of the Right Reverend Lord Abbot of Un- 
reason,” 1 replied the voice from without ; and, from the laugh 
which followed, it seemed as if there was something highly 
ludicrous couched under this reply. 

I know not, and seek not to know, your meaning,” replied 

1 A character often assumed by the chief personage in mediceval revels. 


THE ABBOT 


*53 


the Abbot, “ since it is probably a rude one. But begone, in the 
name of God, and leave his servants in peace. I speak this as 
having lawful authority to command here.” 

“ Open the door,” said another rude voice, “ and we will try 
titles with you, Sir Monk, and show you a superior we must all 
obey.” 

“ Break open the doors if he dallies any longer,” said a third, 
“ and down with the carrion monks who would bar us of our 
privilege!” A general shout followed. “Ay, ay, our privilege! 
our privilege ! Down with the doors, and with the lurdane monks 
if they make opposition ! ” 

The knocking was now exchanged for blows with great ham- 
mers, to which the doors, strong as they were, must soon have 
given way. But the Abbot, who saw resistance would be in vain, 
and who did not wish to incense the assailants by an attempt at 
offering it, besought silence earnestly, and with difficulty obtained 
a hearing. “ My children,” said he, “ I will save you from com- 
mitting a great sin. The porter will presently undo the gate, — 
he is gone to fetch the keys ; meantime I pray you to consider 
with yourselves if you are in a state of mind to cross the holy 
threshold.” 

“ Tilly vally 1 for your papistry! ” was answered from without ; 
“ we are in the mood of the monks when they are merriest, and 
that is when they sup beef brewis 2 for lenten kail . 3 So, if your 
porter hath not the gout, let him come speedily, or we heave away 
readily. Said I well, comrades ? ” 

“ Bravely said, and it sfiall be as bravely done,” said the mul- 
titude ; and had not the keys arrived at that moment, and the 
porter in hasty terror performed his office, thr/wing open the 
great door, the populace would have saved him the trouble. The 
instant he had done so, the affrighted janitor fled, like one who 
has drawn the bolts of a floodgate, and expects to be overwhelmed 
by the rushing inundation. The monks, with one consent, had 

1 A trifle. 2 Broth. 

3 Lenten soup, which should contain no meat. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


154 

withdrawn themselves behind the Abbot, who alone kept his sta- 
tion, about three yards from the entrance, showing no signs of 
fear or perturbation. His brethren, partly encouraged by his 
devotion, partly ashamed to desert him, and partly animated by a 
sense of duty, remained huddled close together at the back of 
their Superior. There was a loud laugh and huzza when the 
doors were opened ; but, contrary to what might have been ex- 
pected, no crowd of enraged assailants rushed into the church. 
On the contrary, there was a cry of “A halt ! — a halt! — to 
order, my masters ! and let the two reverend fathers greet each 
other as beseems them.” 

The appearance of the crowd, who were thus called to order, 
was grotesque in the extreme. It was composed of men, women, 
and children, ludicrously disguised in various habits, and pre- 
senting groups equally diversified and grotesque. Here one 
fellow, with a horse’s head painted before him, and a tail behind, 
and the whole covered with a long footcloth which was supposed 
to hide the body of the animal, ambled, caracoled, pranced, and 
plunged, as he performed the celebrated part of the hobbyhorse , 1 
so often alluded to in our ancient drama, and which still 
flourishes on the stage in the battle that concludes Bayes’s 
tragedy . 2 To rival the address and agility displayed by this 
character, another personage advanced in the more formidable 
character of a huge dragon, with gilded wings, open jaws, and a 
scarlet tongue cloven at the end, which made various efforts to 
overtake and devour a lad, dressed as the lovely Sabaea, daughter 
of the King of Egypt, who fled before him;, while a martial 

1 A favorite figure in the ancient holiday gambols of Scotland, represented 
by a man, equipped with pasteboard to form the head and hinder parts of a 
horse, and concealing the lack of four legs by a long mantle or footcloth, 
who exerted himself in burlesque horsemanship. It gives rise to Hamlet’s 
ejaculation, But oh, but oh, the hobbyhorse is forgot !” 

2 The Rehearsal, a farce by the Duke of Buckingham (1672), satirizes 
John Dryden, poet laureate, under the name of Bayes, and parodies his bom- 
bastic rhyming tragedies. 


THE ABBOT. 


*55 


St. George , 1 grotesquely armed with a goblet for a helmet, 
and a spit for a lance, ever and anon interfered, and compelled 
the monster to relinquish his prey. A bear, a wolf, and one or 
two other wild animals played their parts with the discretion of 
Snug the joiner ; 2 for the decided preference which they gave to 
the use of their hind legs was sufficient, without any formal an- 
nunciation, to assure the most timorous spectators that they had 
to do with habitual bipeds. There was a group of outlaws with 
Robin Hood 3 and Little John at their head, the best representa- 
tion exhibited at the time ; and no great wonder, since most of 
the actors were, by profession, the banished men and thieves 
whom they represented. Other masqueraders there were, of a 
less marked description. Men were disguised as women, and 
women as men ; children wore the dress of aged people, and 
tottered with crutch-sticks in their hands, furred gowns on their 
little backs, and caps on their round heads; while grandsires 
assumed the infantine tone as well as the dress of children. 
Besides these, many had their faces painted and wore their shirts 
over the rest of their dress ; while colored pasteboard and rib- 
bons furnished out decorations for others. Those who wanted 4 
all these properties, blacked their faces and turned their jackets 
inside out ; and thus the transmutation of the whole assembly 
into a set of mad, grotesque mummers was at once completed. 

The pause which the masqueraders made, waiting apparently 
for some person of the highest authority amongst them, gave 

1 Probably a martyr in the reign of Diocletian. He was already patron 
saint of England in Saxon times. His legend represents him killing a 
dragon in Libya to save the king’s daughter, Sabsea, who afterwards be- 
came his wife. 

2 The citizen actor in Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, who 
plays the part of the lion, but is so discreet as to declare, lest the ladies be 
“afeard,” that he is really no lion. 

3 Robin Hood and his lieutenant Little John were famous English outlaws 
of Sherwood Forest in the time of Richard I. (see Ivanhoe and the ballads 
in Percy’s Reliques). 

4 Lacked. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


156 

those within the Abbey church full time to observe all these 
absurdities. They were at no loss to comprehend their purpose 
and meaning. 

Few readers can be ignorant that at an early period, and dur- 
ing the plenitude of her power, the Church of Rome not only 
connived at, but even encouraged such saturnalian 1 licenses as 
the inhabitants of Kennaquhair and the neighborhood had now 
in hand, and that the vulgar, on such occasions, were not only 
permitted but encouraged by a number of gambols, sometimes 
puerile and ludicrous, sometimes immoral and profane, to indem- 
nify themselves for the privations and penances imposed on 
them at other seasons. But of all other topics for burlesque 
and ridicule, the rites and ceremonial of the Church itself were 
most frequently resorted to, and, strange to say, with the ap- 
probation of the clergy themselves. 

While the hierarchy flourished in full glory, they do not appear 
to have dreaded the consequences of suffering the people to be- 
come so irreverently familiar with things sacred ; they then im- 
agined the laity to be much in the condition of a laborer’s horse, 
which does not submit to the bridle and the whip with greater 
reluctance because, at rare intervals, he is allowed to frolic at 
large in his pasture, and fling out his heels in clumsy gambols 
at the master who usually drives him. But when times changed, 
when doubt of the Roman Catholic doctrine, and hatred of their 
priesthood, had possessed the reformed party, the clergy discov- 
ered, too late, that no small inconvenience arose from the estab- 
lished practice of games and merrymakings, in which they them- 
selves, and all they held most sacred, were made the subject of 
ridicule. It then became obvious to duller politicians than the 
Romish churchmen, that the same actions have a very different 
tendency when done in the spirit of sarcastic insolence and 
hatred, than when acted merely in exuberance of rude and un- 

1 Of the character of the Saturnalia, i.e., the festivals of Saturn at Rome, 
which were characterized by license and revel, and probably bequeathed many 
of their traits to the festivals of Christian times. 


THE ABBOT 


*57 


controllable spirits. They, therefore, though of the latest, 
endeavored, where they had any remaining influence, to discour- 
age the renewal of these indecorous festivities. In this particu- 
lar the Catholic clergy were joined by most of the reformed 
preachers, who were more shocked at the profanity and immo- 
rality of many of these exhibitions, than disposed to profit by the 
ridiculous light in which they placed the Church of Rome and 
her observances. But it was long ere these scandalous and im- 
moral sports could be abrogated ; the rude multitude continued 
attached to their favorite pastimes, and, both in England and 
Scotland, the miter of the Catholic, the rochet of the reformed 
bishop, and the cloak and band of the Calvinistic divine were, 
in turn, compelled to give place to those jocular personages, the 
Pope of Fools , 1 the Boy-Bishop , 2 and the Abbot of Unreason. 

It was the latter personage who now, in full costume, made 
his approach to the great door of the church of St. Mary’s, 
accoutered in such a manner as to form a caricature, or practical 
parody, on the costume and attendants of the real Superior, 
whom he came to beard on the very day of his installation, in 
the presence of his clergy, and in the chancel of his church. 
The mock dignitary was a stout-made, undersized fellow, whose 
thick, squab form had been rendered grotesque by a supplemental 
paunch, well stuffed. He wore a miter of leather, „with the front 
like a grenadier’s cap, adorned with mock embroidery and trin- 
kets of tin. This surmounted a visage the nose of which was the 
most prominent feature, being of unusual size, and at least as 
richly gemmed as his headgear. His robe was of buckram, and 
his cope of canvas, curiously painted, and cut into open work. 
On one shoulder was fixed the painted figure of an owl, and he 
bore in the right hand his pastoral staff, and in the left a small 

1 The burlesque Pope, chosen and enthroned during the Feast of Fools, 
a festival celebrated in many countries, especially in France, about the 1st of 
J anuary. 

2 A boy chosen from the cathedral choir on St. Nicholas’ Day, the 6th of 
December, for a mock bishop. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


158 

mirror having a handle to it, thus resembling a celebrated jester , 1 
whose adventures, translated into English, were whilom 2 extremely 
popular, and which may still be procured in black letter 3 for 
about one sterling pound 4 per leaf. 

The attendants of this mock dignitary had their proper dresses 
and equipage, bearing the same burlesque resemblance to the 
officers of the convent which their leader did to the Superior. 
They followed their leader in regular procession, and the motley 
characters which had waited his arrival, now crowded into the 
church in his train, shouting as they came, “ A hall, a hall ! 
for the venerable Father Howleglas, the learned Monk of Mis- 
rule, and the Right Reverend Abbot of U nreason ! ” 

The discordant minstrelsy of every kind renewed its din ; the 
boys shrieked and howled, and the men laughed and hallooed, 
and the women giggled and screamed, and the beasts roared, 
and the dragon walloped and hissed, and the hobbyhorse neighed, 
pranced, and capered, and the rest frisked and frolicked, clash- 
ing their hobnailed shoes against the pavement till it sparkled 
with the marks of their energetic caprioles . 5 

It was, in fine, a scene of ridiculous confusion that deafened 
the ear, made the eyes giddy, and must have altogether stunned 
any indifferent spectator. The monks, personally apprehensive, 
and conscious that much of the popular enjoyment arose from 
the ridicule being directed against them, were, moreover, little 
comforted by the reflection that, bold in their disguise, the 
mummers who whooped and capered around them might, on 
slight provocation, turn their jest into earnest, or at least pro- 
ceed to those practical pleasantries which at all times arise so 

1 The German jester, Tyll Eulenspiegel, or Owlglass, translated Howle- 
glass, whose grave and effigy are shown at Moln. The jest book attributed 
to him was translated into English between 1548 and 1560. 

2 At one time ; formerly. 

3 The English name for the Gothic types first used in printing, which 
imitated the Gothic letters of the manuscripts of the early fifteenth century. 

4 About five dollars. 

5 Capers like those of a goat (Latin, caper, “ a goat”). 


THE ABBOT. 


J 59 


naturally out of the frolicsome and mischievous disposition of 
the populace. They looked to their Abbot amid the tumult, 
with such looks as landsmen cast upon a pilot when the storm is 
at the highest, — looks which express that they are devoid of all 
hope arising from their own exertions, and not very confident in 
any success likely to attend those of their Palinurus . 1 

The Abbot himself seemed at a stand ; he felt no fear, but he 
was sensible of the danger of expressing his rising indignation, 
which he was scarcely able to suppress. He made a gesture 
with his hand as if commanding silence, w r hich was at first only 
replied to by redoubled shouts and peals of wild laughter. When, 
however, the same motion, and as nearly in the same manner, 
had been made by Howleglas, it was immediately obeyed by his 
riotous companions, who expected fresh food for mirth in the 
conversation betwixt the real and mock abbot, having no small 
confidence in the vulgar wit and impudence of their leader. 
Accordingly, they began to shout, “To it, fathers — to it!” 
“Fight monk, fight madcap! abbot against abbot is fair play, 
and so is reason against unreason, and malice against monkery! ” 

“ Silence, my mates ! ” said Howleglas. “ Cannot two learned 
fathers of the Church hold communion together, but you must 
come here with your bear-garden 2 whoop and hollo, as if you were 
hounding forth a mastiff upon a mad bull? I say silence! and 
let this learned father and me confer touching matters affecting 
our mutual state and authority.” 

“ My children,” — said Father Ambrose. 

“My children, too, — and happy children they are!” said his 
burlesque counterpart. “ Many a wise child knows not its own 
father, and it is well they have two to choose betwixt.” 

“ If thou hast aught in thee save scoffing and ribaldry,” said 
the real Abbot, “ permit me, for thine own soul’s sake, to speak 
a few words to these misguided men.” 

1 The pilot of ACneas (see Virgil’s yEneid, Book III., line 202). 

2 A places where bears were kept for the amusement of spectators ; hence, 
disorderly. 


i6o 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Aught in me but scoffing, sayest thou ? ” retorted the Abbot 
of Unreason. “ Why, reverend brother, I have all that becomes 
mine office at this time a-day. I have beef, ale, and brandy wine, 
with other condiments not worth mentioning ; and for speaking, 
man — w hy, speak away, and we will have turn about, like honest 
fellows.” 

During this discussion the wrath of Magdalen Graeme had 
risen to the uttermost ; she approached the Abbot, and placing 
herself by his side, said in a low and yet distinct tone, “ Wake 
and arouse thee, father ! The sword of St. Peter is in thy 
hand, — strike, and avenge St. Peter’s patrimony l 1 Bind them 
in the chains which, being riveted by the Church on earth, are 
riveted in heaven ” — 

“ Peace, sister ! ” said the Abbot ; “ let not their madness de- 
stroy our discretion. I pray thee, peace, and let me do mine 
office. It is the first, peradventure it may be the last, time I 
shall be called on to discharge it.” 

“ Nay, my holy brother,” said Howleglas, “ I rede 2 you, take 
the holy sister’s advice. Never throve convent without woman’s 
counsel.” 

“ Peace, vain man!” said the Abbot. “And you, my 
brethren ” — 

“ Nay, nay,” said the Abbot of Unreason, “no speaking to 
the lay people until you have conferred with your brother of the 
cowl. I swear by bell, book, and candle 3 that no one of my 
congregation shall listen to one word you have to say ; so you 
had as well address yourself to me who will.” 

To escape a conference so ludicrous, the Abbot again at- 
tempted an appeal to what respectful feelings might yet remain 
amongst the inhabitants of the Halidome, once so devoted to 

1 The inherited estate or revenue of a religious house ; here of the whole 
Church represented by St. Peter whom the Popes are held to have suc- 
ceeded. 

2 Advise. 

3 Insignia of the Roman Catholic Church. 


THE ABBOT. 


161 


their spiritual superiors. Alas! the Abbot of Unreason had only 
to flourish his mock crosier, and the whooping, the hallooing, and 
the dancing were renewed with a vehemence which would have 
defied the lungs of Stentor . 1 

“And now, my mates,” said the Abbot of Unreason, “once 
again dight your gabs 2 and be hushed. Let us see if the Cock 
of Kennaquhair will fight or flee the pit.” 3 

There was again a dead silence of expectation, of which 
Father Ambrose availed himself to address his antagonist, seeing 
plainly that he could gain an audience on no other terms. 
“ Wretched man!” said he, “ hast thou no better employment for 
thy carnal wit than to employ it in leading these blind and help- 
less creatures into the pit of utter darkness ? ” 

“Truly, my brother,” replied Howleglas, “I can see little dif- 
ference betwixt your employment and mine, save that you make 
a sermon of a jest and I make a jest of a sermon.” 

“ Unhappy being,” said the Abbot, “ who hast no better subject 
of pleasantry than that which should make thee tremble ! no 
sounder jest than .thine own sins! and no better objects for laugh- 
ter than those who can absolve thee from the guilt of them ! ” 

“Verily, my reverend brother,” said the mock abbot, “what 
you say might be true, if, in laughing at hypocrites, I meant to 
laugh at religion. Oh, it is a precious thing to wear a long 
dress, with a girdle and a cowl ! we become a holy pillar of 
Mother Church, and a boy must not play at ball against the walls 
for fear of breaking a painted window ! ” 

“ And will you, my friends,” said the Abbot, looking round 
and speaking with a vehemence which secured him a tranquil 
audience for some time, “ will you suffer a profane buffoon, within 
the very church of God, to insult his ministers ? Many of you 
— all of you, perhaps — have lived under my holy predecessors, 

1 A Greek herald in the Trojan war, whose voice was louder than that 
of fifty men (from which “ stentorian ”). 

2 “ Dight your gabs,” i.e., wipe your mouths ; be quiet. 

3 The sunken pit in which cockfights usually took place. 


I 


162 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


who were called upon to rule in this church where I am called 
upon to suffer. If you have worldly goods, they are their gift ; 
and, when you scorned not to accept better gifts, the mercy and 
forgiveness of the Church, were they not ever at your command? 
Did we not pray while you were jovial, wake while you slept ? ” 

“ Some of the good wives of the Halidome were wont to say 
so,” said the Abbot of Unreason; but his jest met in this in- 
stance but slight applause, and Father Ambrose, having gained a 
moment’s attention, hastened to improve it. 

“ What ! ” said he ; “ and is this grateful, is it seemly, is it 
honest, to assail with scorn a few old men from whose prede- 
cessors you hold all, and whose only wish is to die in peace 
among these fragments of what was once the light of the land, 
and whose daily prayer is that they may be removed ere that 
hour comes when the last spark shall be extinguished, and the 
land left in the darkness which it has chosen rather than light ? 
We have not turned against you the edge of the spiritual sword, 
to revenge our temporal persecution ; the tempest of your wrath 
hath despoiled us of land, and deprived us almost of our daily 
food, but we have not repaid it with the thunders of excommuni- 
cation . 1 We only pray your leave to live and die within the 
church which is our own, invoking God, Our Lady, and the 
Holy Saints to pardon your sins, and ou^ own, undisturbed by 
scurrile buffoonery and blasphemy.” 

This speech, so different in tone and termination from that 
which the crowd had expected, produced an effect upon their 
feelings unfavorable to the prosecution of their frolic. The 
morris-dancers 2 stood still, the hobbyhorse surceased his caper- 
ing? PT e an d tabor were mute, and “ silence, like a heavy cloud ” 
seemed to descend on the once noisy rabble. Several of the 
beasts were obviously moved to compunction ; the bear could 

1 An ecclesiastical sentence excluding a person from the sacraments of the 
Church, and from intercourse with its members. 

2 Persons in costume, generally decked with bells, who took part in the 
morris (Moorish) dance. 


THE ABBOT. 


163 

not restrain his sobs, and a huge fox was observed to wipe his 
eyes with his tail. But in especial the dragon, lately so formi- 
dably rampant, now relaxed the terror of his claws, uncoiled his 
tremendous rings, and grumbled out of his fiery throat in a re- 
pentant tone, “ By the mass, I thought no harm in exercising our 
old pastime ; but an I had thought the good father would have 
taken it so to heart, I would as soon have played your devil as 
your dragon.” 

In this momentary pause, the Abbot stood amongst the mis- 
cellaneous and grotesque forms by which he was surrounded, 
triumphant as St. Anthony in Callot’s 1 Temptations ; 2 but 
Howleglas would not so resign his purpose. 

“ And how now, my masters ! ” said he ; “is this fair play or 
no ? Have you not chosen me Abbot of Unreason, and is it 
lawful for any of you to listen to common sense to-day ? Was 
I not formally elected by you in solemn chapter, held in Luckie 
Martin’s changehouse , 3 and will you now desert me, and give 
up your old pastime and privilege? Play out the play; and he 
that speaks the next word of sense or reason, or bids us think or 
consider, or the like of that, which befits not the day, I will have 
him solemnly ducked in the milldam ! ” 

The rabble, mutable as usual, huzzaed, the pipe and tabor 
struck up, the hobbyhorse pranced, the beasts roared, and even 
the repentant dragon began again to coil up his spires, and pre- 
pare himself for fresh gambols. But the Abbot might still have 
overcome, by his eloquence and his entreaties, the malicious de- 
signs of the revelers, had not Dame Magdalen Graeme given 
loose to the indignation which she had long suppressed. 

“ Scoffers,” she said, “ and men of Belial 4 — blasphemous here- 
tics, and truculent tyrants ” — 

1 Jacques Callot (1593-1635), a French engraver. 

2 St. Anthony, founder of monasticism (251-356), led an ascetic life in 
the Egyptian desert for more than twenty years, resisting various temptations. 

3 Alehouse. 

4 The lawless Prince of Darkness (see Milton’s Paradise Lost, Book II.). 


164 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Your patience, my sister, I entreat and I command you ! ” 
said the Abbot; “ Let me do my duty, — disturb me not in mine 
office ! ” 

But Dame Magdalen continued to thunder forth her threats in 
the name of Popes and Councils, and in the name of every saint, 
from St. Michael 1 downward. 

“ My comrades,” said the Abbot of Unreason, “this good 
dame hath not spoken a single word of reason, and therein may 
esteem herself free from the law. But what she spoke was meant 
for reason, and, therefore, unless she confesses and avouches all 
which she has said to be nonsense, it shall pass for such, so 
far as to incur our statutes. Wherefore, holy dame, pilgrim, or 
abbess, or whatever thou art, be mute with thy mummery or 
beware the milldam. We will have neither spiritual nor temporal 
scolds in our diocese of Unreason ! ” 

As he spoke thus, he extended his hand towards the old 
woman, while his followers shouted, “ A doom — a doom ! ” and 
prepared to second his purpose, when lo! it was suddenly frus- 
trated. Roland Graeme had witnessed with indignation the insults 
offered to his old spiritual preceptor, but yet had wit enough to 
reflect he could render him no assistance, but might well, by in- 
effective interference, make matters worse. But when he saw 
his aged relative in danger of personal violence, he gave way 
to the natural impetuosity of his temper, and, stepping forward, 
struck his poniard into the body of the Abbot of Unreason, whom 
the blow instantly prostrated on the pavernent. 

1 Chief of the archangels (see Jude 9 and Rev. xii. 7). The festival of 
St. Michael was introduced as early as A.D. 483. 


THE ABBOT 


165 


CHAPTER XV. 

A DREADFUL shout of vengeance was raised by the rev- 
elers, whose sport was thus so fearfully interrupted ; but 
for an instant, the want of weapons amongst the multitude, as 
well as the inflamed features and brandished poniard of Roland 
Graeme, kept them at bay, while the Abbot, horror-struck at the 
violence, implored, with uplifted hands, pardon for bloodshed 
committed within the sanctuary. Magdalen Graeme alone ex- 
pressed triumph in the blow her descendant had dealt to the 
scoffer, mixed, however, with a wild and anxious expression of 
terror for her grandson’s safety. “ Let him perish,” she said, 
“ in his blasphemy ! Let him die on the holy pavement which 
he has insulted ! ” 

But the rage of the multitude, the grief of the Abbot, the ex- 
ultation of the enthusiastic Magdalen, were all mistimed and 
unnecessary. Howleglas, mortally wounded as he was supposed 
to be, sprung alertly up from the floor, calling aloud, “A miracle, 
a miracle, my masters ! as brave a miracle as ever was wrought 
in the kirk 1 of Kennaquhair. And I charge you, my masters, 
as your lawfully chosen abbot, that you touch no one without 
my command. You, wolf and bear, will guard this pragmatic 
youth, but without hurting him. And you, reverend brother, 
will, with your comrades, withdraw to your cells ; for our con- 
ference has ended like all conferences, leaving each of his own 
mind, as before ; and if we fight, both you, and your brethren, 
and the kirk, will have the worst on’t. Wherefore, pack up your 
pipes 2 and begone.” 

The hubbub was beginning again to awaken, but still Father 
Ambrose hesitated, as uncertain to what path his duty called 
him, whether to face out the present storm, or to reserve himself 
for a better moment. His brother of Unreason observed his 

2 “ Pack,” etc., i.e., get ready. 


1 Church. 


i66 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


difficulty, and said, in a tone more natural and less affected than 
that with which he had hitherto sustained his character, “ We 
came hither, my good sir, more in mirth than in mischief. Our 
bark is worse than our bite, and, especially, we mean you no per- 
sonal harm ; wherefore, draw off while the play is good ; for it is 
ill whistling for a hawk when she is once on the soar, and worse 
to snatch the quarry from the bandog. Let these fellows once 
begin their brawl, and it will be too much for madness itself, let 
alone the Abbot of Unreason, to bring them back to the lure.” 

The brethren crowded around Father Ambrosius, and joined 
in urging him to give place to the torrent. The present revel was, 
they said, an ancient custom which his predecessors had per- 
mitted, and old Father Nicholas himself had played the dragon 
in the days of the Abbot Ingelram. 

“ And we now reap the fruit of the seed which they have so 
unadvisedly sown,” said Ambrosius. “ They taught men to make 
a mock of what is holy ; what wonder that the descendants of 
scoffers become robbers and plunderers? But be it as you list, 
my brethren; move towards the dortour . 1 — And you, dame, I 
command you, by the authority which I have over you, and by 
your respect for that youth’s safety, that you go with us without 
farther speech. Yet, stay — what are your intentions towards 
that youth whom you detain prisoner ? \yot ye,” he continued, 
addressing Howleglas in a stern tone of voice, “ that he bears 
the livery of the House of Avenel ? They who fear not the 
anger of Heaven may at least dread the wrath of man.” 


Cumber not yourself concerning him,” answered Howleglas ; 
“ we know right well who and what he is.” 

Let me pray,” said the Abbot in a tone of entreaty, “ that 
you do him no wrong for the rash deed which he attempted in 
his imprudent zeal.” 

“ cumber not yourself about it, father,” answered Howle- 
glas, “but move off with your train, male and female, or I will 


1 Dormitory; sleeping 


room, especially of a monastery. 


THE ABBOT. 


167 

not undertake to save yonder she-saint from the ducking stool . 1 
And as for bearing of malice, my stomach has no room for it ; 
it is,” he added, clapping his hand on his portly belly, “ too well 
bumbasted 2 out with straw and buckram, gramercy 3 to them 
both ; they kept out that madcap’s dagger as well as a Milan 4 
corselet could have done.” 

In fact, the home-driven poniard of Roland Graeme had lighted 
upon the stuffing of the fictitious paunch which the Abbot of 
Unreason wore as a part of his characteristic dress, and it was 
only the force of the blow which had prostrated that reverend 
person on the ground for a moment. 

Satisfied in some degree by this man’s assurances, and com- 
pelled to give way to superior force, the Abbot Ambrosius retired 
from the church at the head of the monks, and left the court 
free for the revelers to work their will. But, wild and willful as 
these rioters were, they accompanied the retreat of the religionists 
with none of those shouts of contempt and derision with which 
they had at first hailed them. The Abbot’s discourse had 
affected some of them with remorse, others with shame, and all 
with a transient degree of respect. They remained silent until 
the last monk had disappeared through the side door which 
communicated with their dwelling place, and even then it cost 
some exhortations on the part of Howleglas, some caprioles of 
the hobbyhorse, and some wallops of the dragon, to rouse once 
more the rebuked spirit of revelry. 

“ And how now, my masters ? ” said the Abbot of Unreason ; 
“and wherefore look on me with such blank Jack-a-Lent 5 vis- 
ages ? Will you lose your old pastime for an old wife’s tale of 
saints and purgatory ? Why, I thought you would have made 
all split long since. Come, strike up, tabor and harp, — strike up, 

1 A chair, fitted to the end of a beam, in which scolds were tied to be 
plunged in the water. 

2 Padded; inflated. 3 Grand nierci ; i.e., many thanks. 

4 A city in northern Italy, where the best armor was made. 

5 A ragged figure used in processions as a symbol of Lent. 


i68 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


fiddle and rebeck; dance and be merry to-day, and let care 
come to-morrow. Bear and wolf, look to your prisoner ; — prance, 
hobby hiss, dragon,— and halloo, boys ; — we grow older every 
moment we stand idle, and life is too short to be spent in playing 
mumchance .” 1 

This pithy exhortation was attended with the effect desired. 
They fumigated the church with burnt wool and feathers instead 
of incense, put foul water into the holy-water basins, and cele- 
brated a parody on the Church service, the mock abbot offici- 
ating at the altar ; they sung ludicrous and indecent parodies to 
the tunes of church hymns ; they violated whatever vestments or 
vessels belonging to the Abbey they could lay their hands upon, 
and, playing every freak which the whim of the moment could 
suggest to their wild caprice, at length they fell to more last- 
ing deeds of demolition, pulled down and destroyed some carved 
woodwork, dashed out the painted windows which had escaped 
former violence, and in their rigorous search after sculpture 
dedicated to idolatry, began to destroy what ornaments yet 
remained entire upon the tombs, and around the cornices of the 
pillars. 

The spirit of demolition, like other tastes, increases by indul- 
gence ; from these lighter attempts at mischief, the more tumultu- 
ous part of the meeting began to meditate destruction on a 
more extended scale. “ Let us heave it down altogether, the old 
crow’s nest,” became a general cry among them ; “ it has served 
the Pope and his rooks 2 too long; ” and up they struck a ballad 
which was then popular among the lower classes. 

“ The Paip, that pagan full of pride, 

Hath blinded us ower lang, 

For where the blind the blind doth lead, 

No marvel baith gae wrang. 


1 A game of cards and dice in which silence was necessary. 

2 Birds related to the crow. The monks are so called, perhaps, on account 
of their black robes. 


THE ABBOT. 


169 


Like prince and king, 

He led the ring 
Of all iniquity. 

Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix, 

Under the greenwood tree. 

• 

“ The Bishop rich, he could not preach 
For sporting with the lasses; 

The silly friar behoved to fleech 
For awmous 1 as he passes; 

The curate his creed 
He could not read, — 

Shame fa’ the company ! 

Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix, 

Under the greenwood tree .” 2 

Thundering out this chorus of a notable hunting song, which 
had been pressed into the service of some polemical poet, the 
followers of the Abbot of Unreason were turning every moment 
more tumultuous, and getting beyond the management even of 
that reverend prelate himself, when a knight in full armor, fol- 
lowed by two or three men-at-arms, entered the church, and in 
a stern voice commanded them to forbear their riotous mum- 
mery. 

His visor was up, but if it had been lowered, the cognizance 3 
of the holly branch sufficiently distinguished Sir Halbert Glen- 
dinning, who, on his homeward road, was passing through the 
village of Kennaquhair ; and moved, perhaps, by anxiety for his 
brother’s safety, had come directly to the church on hearing of 
the uproar. 

“ What is the meaning of this,” he said, “my masters? Are ye 

1 “ Fleech for awmous,” i.e., wheedle folk for alms. 

2 These rude rhymes are taken, with some trifling alterations, from a bal- 
lad called “ Trim-go-trix,” which occurs in a singular collection entitled A 
Compendious Book of Godly and Spiritual Songs, with Augmentation of Sun- 
drie Gude and Godly Ballates, reprinted in Mr. John Grahame Dalyell’s 
Scottish Poems of the Sixteenth Century. 

3 Badge, or ensign. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


170 

Christian men, and the King’s subjects, and yet waste and destroy 
church and chancel like so many heathens ? ” 

All stood silent, though doubtless there were several disap- 
pointed and surprised at receiving chiding instead of thanks from 
so zealous a Protestant. 

The dragon, indeed, did at length take upon him to be spokes- 
man, and growled from the depth of his painted maw that they 
did but sweep Popery out of the church with the besom 1 of de- 
struction. 

“ What ! my friends,” replied Sir Halbert Glendinning, “ think 
you this mumming and masking has not more of Popery in it 
than have these stone walls ? Take the leprosy out of your 
flesh, before you speak of purifying stone walls ; abate your in- 
solent license, which leads but to idle vanity and sinful excess ; 
and know that what you now practice is one of the profane and 
unseemly sports introduced by the priests of Rome themselves, 
to mislead and to brutify the souls which fell into their net.” 

“ Marry come up ! 2 are you there with your bears? ” muttered 
the dragon, with a draconic 3 sullenness which was in good keep- 
ing with his character. “We had as good have been Romans 4 
still, if we are to have no freedom in our pastimes ! ” 

“ Dost thou reply to me so?” said Halbert Glendinning; “or 
is there any pastime in groveling on the ground there like a 
gigantic kail 5 worm ? Get out of thy painted case, or, by my 
knighthood, I will treat you like the beast and reptile you have 
made yourself.” 

“ Beast and reptile? ” retorted the offended dragon. “ Setting 
aside your knighthood, I hold myself as well a born man as 
thyself.” 

The Knight made no answer in words, but bestowed two such 
blows with the butt of his lance on the petulant dragon, that had 

1 Broom. 2 Indeed. 

3 Pertaining to Draco, a famous lawgiver of Athens in the seventh cen- 
tury B.C. From the character of Draco’s laws, this word has come to mean 

harsh ” or “ severe.” 4 Roman Catholics. 5 Cabbage. 


THE ABBOT. 


171 

not the hoops which constituted the ribs of the machine been 
pretty strong, they would hardly have saved those of the actor 
from being broken. In all haste the masker crept out of his dis- 
guise, unwilling to abide a third buffet from the lance of the en- 
raged Knight ; and when the ex-dragon stood on the floor of 
the church, he presented to Halbert Glendinning the well-known 
countenance of Dan of the Howlet-hirst, 1 an ancient comrade of 
his own, ere fate had raised him so high above the rank to which 
he was born. The clown looked sulkily upon the Knight, as if 
to upbraid him for his violence towards an old acquaintance, and 
Glendinning’s own good nature reproached him for the violence 
he had acted upon him. 

“ I did wrong to strike thee,” he said, “ Dan ; but in truth, I 
knew thee not. Thou wert ever a mad fellow. Come to Avenel 
Castle, and we shall see how my hawks fly.” 

“ And if we show him not falcons that will mount as merrily 
as rockets,” said the Abbot of Unreason, “ I would your Honor 
laid as hard on my bones as you did on his even now.” 

“How now, Sir Knave,” said the Knight, “and what has 
brought you hither ? ” 

The abbot, hastily ridding himself of the false nose which 
mystified his physiognomy, and the supplementary belly which 
made up his disguise, stood before his master in his real charac- 
ter of Adam Woodcock, the falconer of Avenel. 

“ How, varlet !” said the Knight; “hast thou dared to come 
here and disturb the very house my brother was dwelling in ? ” 

“And it was even for that reason, craving your Honor’s par- 
don, that I came hither ; for I heard the country was to be up to 
choose an Abbot of Unreason, and sure, thought I, I that can 
sing, dance, leap backwards over a broadsword, and am as good 
a fool as ever sought promotion, have all chance of carrying 
the office ; and if I gain my election, I may stand his Honor’s 
brother in some stead, supposing things fall roughly out at the 
Kirk of St. Mary’s.” 


1 Literally, owl-hill. 


7 2 


S/R WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Thou art but a cogging 1 knave,” said Sir Halbert, “ and well 
I wot that love of ale and brandy, besides the humor of riot and 
frolic, would draw tflee a mile when love of my house would 
not bring thee a yard. But go to, carry thy roisterers else- 
where, — to the alehouse if they list, and there are crowns to pay 
your charges. Make out the day’s madness without doing more 
mischief, and be wise men to-morrow; and hereafter learn to 
serve a good cause better than by acting like buffoons or ruffians.” 

Obedient to his master’s mandate, the falconer was collect- 
ing his discouraged followers, and whispering into their ears: 
“ Away, away, — - face 2 is Latin for a candle ; — never mind the 
good Knight’s puritanism. We will play the frolic out over a 
stand of double ale in Dame Martin the Brewster’s barnyard. 
Draw off, harp and tabor, bagpipe and drum, — mum till you 
are out of the churchyard, then let the welkin 3 ring again. Move 
on, wolf and bear; keep the hind legs till you cross the kirk 
stile, and then show yourselves beasts of mettle. What devil sent 
him here to spoil our holiday ! But anger him not, my hearts ; 
his lance is no goose feather, as Dan’s ribs can tell.” 

“ By my soul,” said Dan, “ had it been another than my ancient 
comrade, I would have made my father’s old fox 4 fly about his 
ears ! ” 

“Hush, hush, man!” replied Adam Woodcock; “not a word 
that way, as you value the safety of your bones. What, man ! 
we must take a clink ° as it passes, so it is not bestowed in down- 
right ill will.” 

“ But I will take no such thing,” said Dan of the Howlet-hirst, 
suddenly resisting the efforts of Woodcock, who was dragging 
him out of the church ; when the quick, military eye of Sir Hal- 
bert Glendinning, detecting Roland Graeme betwixt his two 
guards, the Knight exclaimed, “So ho! falconer, — Woodcock, 

1 Wheedling; cheating. 

2 Probably a play on words. Tace , which is Latin for “ be silent,” was 

to be pronounced ta-cee , “ to see.” 3 Sky. 

4 An old-fashioned broadsword was often so called. 5 a smart blow. 


THE ABBOT. 


173 


— knave, hast thou brought my lady’s page in mine own livery, 
to assist at this hopeful revel of thine, with your wolves and 
bears? Since you were at such mummings, you might, if you 
would, have at least saved the credit of my household, by dress- 
ing him up as a jackanapes. Bring him hither, fellows ! ” 

Adam Woodcock was too honest and downright to permit 
blame to light upon the youth when it was undeserved. “ I 
swear,” he said, “ by St. Martin of Bullions ” 1 — 

“ And what hast thou to do with St. Martin ? ” 

“ Nay, little enough, sir, unless when he sends such rainy days 
that we cannot fly a hawk. But I say to your worshipful Knight- 
hood, that as I am a true man ” — 

“As you are a false varlet, had been the better obtestation.” 

“ Nay, if your Knighthood allows me not to speak,” said 
Adam, “ I can hold my tongue ; but the boy came not hither by 
my bidding, for all that.” 

“ But to gratify his own malapert pleasure, I warrant me,” 
said Sir Halbert Glendinning. “ Come hither, young springald, 
and tell me whether you have your mistress’s license to be so far 
absent from the castle, or to dishonor my livery by mingling in 
such a May game ? ” 2 

“ Sir Halbert Glendinning,” answered Roland Graeme with 
steadiness, “ I have obtained the permission, or rather the com- 
mands, of your lady, to dispose of my time hereafter according 
to my own pleasure. I have been a most unwilling spectator of 
this May game, since it is your pleasure so to call it ; and I only 
wear your livery until I can obtain clothes which bear no such 
badge of servitude.” 

“ How am I to understand this, young man ? ” said Sir Halbert 
Glendinning. “Speak plainly, for I am no reader of riddles. 
That my lady favored thee, I know. What hast thou done to 
disoblige her, and occasion thy dismissal ? ” 

“ Nothing to speak of,” said Adam Woodcock, answering for 

1 The St. Swithin, or weeping Saint, of Scotland. 

2 Sport such as was customary on the 1st of May. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


*74 

the boy. “ A foolish quarrel with me, which was more foolishly 
told over again to my honored Lady, cost the poor boy his place. 
For my part, I will say freely that I was wrong from beginning 
to end, except about the washing of the eyas’s meat. There I 
stand to it that I was right.” 

With that, the good-natured falconer repeated to his master the 
whole history of the squabble which had brought Roland Graeme 
into disgrace with his mistress, but in a manner so favorable for 
the page, that Sir Halbert could not but suspect his generous 
motive. 

“ Thou art a good-natured fellow,” he said, “ Adam Wood- 
cock.” 

“ As ever had falcon upon fist,” said Adam ; “and for that 
matter, so is Master Roland ; but, being half a gentleman by his 
office, his blood is soon up, and so is mine.” 

“ Well,” said Sir Halbert, “be it as it will, my lady has acted 
hastily, for this was no great matter of offense to discard the lad 
whom she had trained up for years ; but he, I doubt not, made 
it worse by his prating. It jumps 1 well with a purpose, however, 
which I had in my mind. Draw off these people, Woodcock, — 
and you, Roland Graeme, attend me.” 

The page followed him in silence into the Abbot’s house, 
where, stepping into the first apartment which he found open, 
he commanded one of his attendants to let his brother, Master 
Edward Glendinning, know that he desired to speak with him. 
The men-at-arms went gladly off to join their comrade, Adam 
Woodcock, and the jolly crew whom he had assembled at Dame 
Martin’s, the hostler’s wife, and the page and Knight were left 
alone in the apartment. Sir Halbert Glendinning paced the floor 
for a moment in silence, and then thus addressed his attendant : 

“ Thou mayest have remarked, stripling, that I have but seldom 
distinguished thee by much notice ; — I see thy color rises, but do 
not speak till thou hearest me out. I say I have never much dis- 
tinguished thee, not because I did not see that in thee which 1 


1 Accords. 


THE ABBOT. 


75 


might well have praised, but because I saw something blamable, 
which such praises might have made worse. Thy mistress, deal- 
ing according to her pleasure in her own household, as no 
one had better reason or title, had picked thee from the rest, and 
treated thee more like a relation than a domestic ; and if thou 
didst show some vanity and petulance under such distinction, it 
were injustice not to say that thou hast profited both in thy ex- 
ercises and in thy breeding, and hast shown many sparkles of a 
gentle and manly spirit. Moreover, it were ungenerous, having 
bred thee up freakish and fiery, to dismiss thee to want or wan- 
dering, for showing that very peevishnesi and impatience of dis- 
cipline which arose from thy too delicate nurture. Therefore, 
and for the credit of my own household, I am determined to 
retain thee in my train until I can honorably dispose of thee 
elsewhere, with a fair prospect of thy going through the world 
with credit to the house that brought thee up.” 

If there was something in Sir Halbert Glendinning’s speech 
which flattered Roland’s pride, there was also much that, accord- 
ing to his mode of thinking, was an alloy to the compliment. 
And yet his conscience instantly told him that he ought to ac- 
cept, with grateful deference, the offer which was made him by 
the husband of his kind protectress ; and his prudence, however 
slender, could not but admit he should enter the world under 
very different auspices as a retainer of Sir Halbert Glendinning, 
so famed for wisdom, courage, and influence, from those under 
which he might partake the wanderings, and become an agent 
in the visionary schemes — for such they appeared to him — of 
Magdalen, his relative. Still, a strong reluctance to reenter a 
service from which he had been dismissed with contempt, almost 
counterbalanced these considerations. 

Sir Halbert looked on the youth with surprise, and resumed, 
“You seem to hesitate, young man. Are your own prospects 
so inviting, that you should pause ere you accept those which I 
should offer to you? or must I remind you that, although you have 
offended your benefactress, even to the point of her dismissing 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


176 

you, yet I am convinced the knowledge that you have gone un- 
guided on your own wild way, into a world so disturbed as ours 
of Scotland, cannot, in the upshot, but give her sorrow and pain ; 
from which it is, in gratitude, your duty to preserve her, no less 
than it is in common wisdom your duty to accept my offered 
protection, for your own sake, where body and soul are alike 
endangered should you refuse it.” 

Roland Graeme replied in a respectful tone, but at the same 
time with some spirit, “ I am not ungrateful for such countenance 
as has been afforded me by the Lord of Avenel, and I am glad to 
learn, for the first time, that I have not had the misfortune to 
be utterly beneath his observation, as I had thought. And it is 
only needful to show me how I can testify my duty and my 
gratitude towards my early and constant benefactress, with my 
life’s hazard, and I will gladly peril it.” He stopped. 

“ These are but words, young man,” answered Glendinning ; 
“ large protestations are often used to supply the place of effec- 
tual service. I know nothing in which the peril of your life can 
serve the Lady of Avenel ; I can only say, she will be pleased 
to learn you have adopted some course which may insure the 
safety of your person, and the weal of your soul. What ails 
you, that you accept not that safety when it is offered you ? ” 

“ My only relative who is alive,” answered Roland, “ at least 
the only relative whom I have ever seen, has rejoined me since 
I was dismissed from the Castle of Avenel, and I must consult 
with her whether I can adopt the line to which you now call me, or 
whether her increasing infirmities, or the authority which she is en- 
titled to exercise over me, may not require me to abide with her.” 

Where is this relation ? ” said Sir Halbert Glendinning. 

“In this house,” answered the page. 

“ Go > then > and seek her out,” said the Knight of Avenel ; 
more than meet it is that thou shouldst have her approbation, 
yet worse than foolish would she show herself in denying it.” 

Roland left the apartment to seek for his grandmother; and 
as he retreated, the Abbot entered. 


THE ABBOT. 


*77 


The two brothers met as brothers who loved each other fondly, 
yet meet rarely together. Such indeed was the case. Their mutual 
affection attached them to each other; but in every pursuit, 
habit, or sentiment connected with the discords of the times, the 
friend and counselor of Murray stood opposed to the Roman Cath- 
olic priest ; nor, indeed, could they have held very much society 
together without giving cause of offense and suspicion to their con- 
federates on each side. After a close embrace on the part of both, 
and a welcome on that of the Abbot, Sir Halbert Glendinning 
expressed his satisfaction that he had come in time to appease 
the riot raised by Howleglas and his tumultuous followers. 

“ And yet,” he said, “ when I look on your garments, brother 
Edward, I cannot help thinking there still remains an Abbot of 
Unreason within the bounds of the Monastery.”' 

“ And wherefore carp at my garments, brother Halbert ? ” said 
the Abbot ; “ it is the spiritual armor of my calling, and, as such, 
beseems me as well as breastplate and baldric becomes your own 
bosom.” 

“ Ay, but there were small wisdom, methinks, in putting on 
armor where we have no power to fight ; it is but a dangerous 
temerity to defy the foe whom we cannot resist.” 

“ For that, my brother, no one can answer,” said the Abbot, 
“ until the battle be fought ; and, were it even as you say, me- 
thinks a brave man, though desperate of victory, would rather 
desire to fight and fall, than to resign sword and shield on some 
mean and dishonorable composition 1 with his insulting antago- 
nist. But let not you and me make discord of a theme on which 
we cannot agree, but rather stay and partake, though a heretic, 
of my admission feast. You need not fear, my brother, that your 
zeal for restoring the primitive discipline of the Church will, on 
this occasion, be offended with the rich profusion of a conventual 
banquet. The days of our old friend Abbot Boniface 2 are over ; 

1 Compromise. 

2 Abbot of St. Mary’s, referred to in The Monastery, who resigned in 
favor of the Abbot Eustatius at the approach of war. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


178 

aigl the Superior of St. Mary’s has neither forests nor fishings, 
wocfds, nor pastures, nor cornfields; neither flocks nor herds, 
bucks nor wild fowl, granaries of wheat, nor storehouses of oil 
and wine, of ale and of mead. The refectioner’s 1 office is ended ; 
and such a meal as a hermit in romance can offer to a wandering 
knight, is all we have to set before you. But if you will share 
it with us, we shall eat it with a cheerful heart, and thank you, my 
brother, for your timely protection against these rude scoffers.” 

“ My dearest brother,” said the Knight, “it grieves me deeply 
I cannot abide with you ; but it would sound ill for us both were 
one of the reformed congregation to sit down at your admission 
feast; and, if I can ever have the satisfaction of affording you 
effectual protection, it will be much owing to my remaining un- 
suspected of countenancing or approving your religious rites and 
ceremonies. It will demand whatever consideration I can ac- 
quire among my own friends, to shelter the bold man who, con- 
trary to law and the edicts of Parliament, has dared to take up 
the office of Abbot of St. Mary’s.” 

“Trouble not yourself with the task, my brother,” replied 
Father Ambrosius. “I would lay down my dearest blood to 
know that you defended the Church for the Church’s sake ; but 
while you remain unhappily her enemy, I would not that you 
endangered your own safety, or diminished your own comforts, 
for the sake of my individual protection. But who comes 
hither to disturb the few minutes of fraternal communication 
which our evil fate allows us ? ” 

The door of the apartment opened as the Abbot spoke, and 
Dame Magdalen entered. 

Who is this woman ? ” said Sir Halbert Glendinning some- 
what sternly, “ and what does she want ? ” 

“That you know me not,” said the matron, “signifies little; I 
come by your own order, to give my free consent that the strip- 
ling, Roland Graeme, return to your service ; and, having said so, 
I cumber you no longer with my presence. Peace be with you! ” 

1 Monk in charge of the supplies of food in a monastery. 


THE ABBOT 


179 

She turned to go away, but was stopped by the inquiries of Sir 
Halbert Glendinning. 

“ Who are you ? — what are you ? — and why do you not await 
to make me answer ? ” 

“I was,” she replied, “while yet I belonged to the world, a 
matron of no vulgar name ; now I am Magdalen, a poor pil- 
grimer, for the sake of Holy Kirk.” 

“Yea,” said Sir Halbert, “art thou a Catholic? I thought 
my dame said that Roland Graeme came of reformed kin.” 

“ His father,” said the matron, “ was a heretic, or rather, one 
who regarded neither orthodoxy nor heresy, neither the temple 
of the Church or of antichrist . 1 I, too, — for the sins of the times 
make sinners, — have seemed to conform to your unhallowed 
rites ; but I had my dispensation and my absolution.” 

“You see, brother,” said Sir Halbert with a smile of meaning 
towards his brother, “ that we accuse you, not altogether without 
grounds, of mental equivocation.” 

“ My brother, you do us injustice,” replied the Abbot. “ This 
woman, as her bearing may of itself warrant you, is not in her 
perfect mind, thanks, I must needs say, to the persecution of 
your marauding barons, and of your latitudinarian clergy.” 

“ I will not dispute the point,” said Sir Halbert ; “ the evils of 
the time are unhappily so numerous that both churches may 
divide them, and have enow 2 to spare.” So saying, he leaned 
from the window of the apartment, and winded his bugle. 

“ Why do you sound your horn, my brother ? ” said the Abbot ; 
“ we have spent but few minutes together.” 

“Alas !” said the elder brother, “and even these few have 
been sullied by disagreement. I sound to horse, my brother, 
the rather that to avert the consequences of this day’s rashness 
on your part, requires hasty efforts on mine. — Dame, you will 
oblige me by letting your young relative know that we mount 
instantly. I intend not that he shall return to Avenel with me. 

1 An enemy of Christ (see I John ii. 18-22) ; a false christ. 

2 Enough. 


i8o 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


It would lead to new quarrels betwixt him and my household ; 
at least to taunts which his proud heart could ill brook, and my 
wish is to do him kindness. He shall, therefore, go forward to 
Edinburgh with one of my retinue, whom I shall send back to 
*say what has chanced here. You seem rejoiced at this ? ” he 
added, fixing his eyes keenly on Magdalen Graeme, who returned 
his gaze with calm indifference. 

“ I would rather,” she said, “ that Roland, a poor and friend- 
less orphan, were the jest of the world at large, than of the 
menials at Avenel.” 

“ Fear not, dame, he shall be scorned by neither,” answered 
the Knight. 

“It may be,” she replied ; “ it may well be ; but I will trust 
more to his own bearing than to your countenance.” She left 
the room as she spoke. 

The Knight looked after her as she departed, but turned in- 
stantly to his brother, and expressing, in the most affectionate 
terms, his wishes for his welfare and happiness, craved his leave 
to depart. “ My knaves,” he said, “ are too busy at the ale stand 
to leave their revelry for the empty breath of a bugle horn.” 

“You have freed them from higher restraint, Halbert,” an- 
swered the Abbot, “and therein taught them to rebel against 
your own.” 

“ Fear not that, Edward,” exclaimed Halbert, who never gave 
his brother his monastic name of Ambrosius ; “ none obey the 
command of real duty so well as those who are free from the 
observance of slavish bondage.” 

He was turning to depart, when the Abbot said, “ Let us not 
yet part, my brother ; here comes some light refreshment. Leave 
not the house which I must now call mine till force expel me 
from it, until you have at least broken bread with me.” 

The poor lay brother, the same who acted as porter, now 
entered the apartment, bearing some simple refreshment, and a 
flask of wine. He had found it, he said, with officious humil- 
ity, “by rummaging through every nook of the cellar.” 


THE ABBOT. 


181 


The Knight filled a small silver cup, and, quaffing it off, asked 
his brother to pledge him, observing the wine was Bacharach, 1 of 
the first vintage and great age. 

“ Ay,” said the poor lay brother, “ it came out of the nook 
which old Brother Nicholas (may his soul be happy) was wont 
to call Abbot Ingelram’s corner ; and Abbot Ingelram was bred 
at the Convent of Wurzburg, 2 which I understand to be near 
where that choice wine grows.” 

“ True, my reverend sir,” said Sir Halbert ; “ and therefore I 
entreat my brother and you to pledge me in a cup of this ortho- 
dox vintage.” 

The thin old porter looked with a wishful glance towards the 
Abbot. “Do veniam ,” 3 said his Superior, and the old man 
seized, with a trembling hand, a beverage to which he had been 
long unaccustomed ; drained the cup with protracted delight, as 
if dwelling on the flavor and perfume, and set it down with a 
melancholy smile and shake of the head, as if bidding adieu in 
future to such delicious potations. The brothers smiled. But 
when Sir Halbert motioned to the Abbot to take up his cup and 
do him reason, the Abbot, in turn, shook his head, and replied, 
“ This is no day for the Abbot of St. Mary’s to eat the fat and 
drink the sweet. In water from Our Lady’s well,” he added, 
filling a cup with the limpid element, “ I wish you, my brother, 
all happiness, and, above all, a true sight of your spiritual errors.” 

“ And to you, my beloved Edward,” replied Glendinning, “ I 
wish the free exercise of your own free reason, and the discharge 
of more important duties than are connected with the idle name 
which you have so rashly assumed.” 

The brothers parted with deep regret ; and yet, each confident 
in his opinion, felt somewhat relieved by the absence of one whom 
he respected so much, and with whom he could agree so little. 

Soon afterwards the sound of the Knight of Avenel’s trumpets 

1 A red wine named from the town on the Rhine where it is made. This 
town is famous for its vineyards. 

2 A town of Bavaria, on the river Main. 


3 I grant permission. 


182 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


was heard, and the Abbot went to the top of the tower, from 
whose dismantled battlements he could soon see the horsemen 
ascending the rising ground in the direction of the drawbridge. 
As he gazed, Magdalen Graeme came' to his side. 

“ Thou art come,” he said, “ to catch the last glimpse of thy 
grandson, my sister. Yonder he wends, under the charge of the 
^best knight in Scotland, his faith ever excepted.” 

“ Thou canst bear witness, my father, that it was no wish either 
of mine or of Roland’s,” replied the matron, “which induced the 
Knight of Avenel, as he is called, again to entertain my grand- 
son in his household. Heaven, which confounds the wise with 
their own wisdom, and the wicked with their own policy, hath 
placed him where, for the services of the Church, I would most 
wish him to be.” 

“ I know not what you mean, my sister,” said the Abbot. 

“ Reverend father,” replied Magdalen, “ hast thou never heard 
that there are spirits powerful to rend the walls of a castle asunder 
when once admitted, which yet cannot enter the house unless 
they are invited, nay, dragged over the threshold ? 1 Twice hath 
Roland Grseme been thus drawn into the household of Avenel 
by those who now hold the title. Let them look to the issue.” 

So saying, she left the turret ; and the Abbot, after pausing 
a moment on her words, which he imputed to the unsettled state 
of her mind, followed down the winding stair to celebrate his 
admission to his high office by fast and prayer, instead of revel- 
ing and thanksgiving. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Y OUNG Roland Grseme now trotted gayly forward in the 
train of Sir Halbert Glendinning. He was relieved from 

1 There is a popular belief that evil spirits cannot enter an inhabited house 
unless invited. See the passage in Coleridge’s Christabel, where Christabel 
conducts into her father’s castle a mysterious and malevolent being, under the 
guise of a distressed female stranger. 


THE ABBOT. 


183 

his most galling apprehension, — the encounter of the scorn and 
taunt which might possibly hail his immediate return to the 
Castle of Avenel. “There will be a change ere they see me 
again,” he thought to himself ; “ I shall wear the coat of plate 
instead of the green jerkin, and the steel morion for the bonnet 
and feather. They will be bold that may venture to break a 
gibe 1 on the man-at-arms for the follies of the page ; and I trust 
that ere we return I shall have done something more worthy of 
note than hallooing a hound after a deer, or scrambling a crag 
for a kite’s nest.” He could not, indeed, help marveling that his 
grandmother, with all her religious prejudices leaning, it would 
seem, to the other side, had consented so readily to his reenter- 
ing the service of the House of Avenel ; and yet more, at the 
mysterious joy with which she took leave of him at the Abbey. 

“ Heaven,” said the dame, as she kissed her young relation, 
and bade him farewell, “ works its own work, even by the hands 
of those of our enemies who think themselves the strongest and 
the wisest. Thou, my child, be ready to act upon the call of thy 
religion and country ; and remember, each earthly bond which 
thou canst form is, compared to the ties which bind thee to 
them, like the loose flax to the twisted cable. Thou hast not 
forgot the face or form of the damsel Catherine Seyton ? ” 

Roland would have replied in the negative, but the word 
seemed to stick in his throat, and Magdalen continued her ex- 
hortations. 

“ Thou must not forget her, my son ; and here I intrust thee 
with a token, which I trust thou wilt speedily find an opportunity 
of delivering with care and secrecy into her own hand.” 

She put here into Roland’s hand a very small packet, of which 
she again enjoined him to take the strictest care, and to suffer it 
to be seen by no one save Catherine Seyton, who, she again 
(very unnecessarily) reminded him, was the young maiden he 
had met on the preceding day. She then bestowed on him her 
solemn benediction, and bade God speed him. 

l “ To break a gibe,” i.e., to utter a scornful jest or taunt. 


1 84 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


There was something in her manner and her conduct which 
implied mystery; but Roland Graeme was not of an age or 
temper to waste much time in endeavoring to decipher her 
meaning. All that was obvious to his perception in the present 
journey promised pleasure and novelty. He rejoiced that he 
was traveling towards Edinburgh, in order to assume the charac- 
ter of a man, and lay aside that of a boy. He was delighted to 
think that he would have an opportunity of rejoining Catherine 
Seyton, whose bright eyes and lively manners had made so favor- 
able an impression on his imagination ; and, as an inexperienced, 
yet high-spirited youth, entering for the first time upon active 
life, his heart bounded at the thought that he was about to see 
all those scenes of courtly splendor and warlike adventures of 
which the followers of Sir Halbert used to boast on their occa- 
sional visits to Avenel, to the wonderment and envy of those who, 
like Roland, knew courts and camps only by hearsay, and were 
condemned to the solitary sports and almost monastic seclusion 
of Avenel, surrounded by its lonely lake, and embosomed among 
its pathless mountains. “ They shall mention my name,” he said 
to himself, “if the risk of my life can purchase me opportunities 
of distinction, and Catherine Sey ton’s saucy eye shall rest with 
more respect on the distinguished soldier, than that with which 
she laughed to scorn the raw and inexperienced page.” There 
was wanting but one accessory to complete the sense of raptur- 
ous excitation, and he possessed it by being once more mounted 
on the back of a fiery and active horse, instead of plodding along 
on foot, as had been the case during the preceding days. 

Impelled by the liveliness of his own spirits, which so many 
circumstances tended naturally to exalt, Roland Graeme’s voice 
and his laughter were soon distinguished amid the trampling of 
the horses of the retinue, and more than once attracted the at- 
tention of their leader, who remarked with satisfaction that the 
youth replied with good-humored raillery to such of the train as 
jested with him on his dismissal and return to the service of the 
House of Avenel. 


THE ABBOT 


*85 

“ I thought the holly branch in your bonnet had been blighted, 
Master Roland ? ” said one of the men-at-arms. 

“ Only pinched with half an hour’s frost ; you see it flourishes 
as green as ever.” 

“ It is too grave a plant to flourish on so hot a soil as that 
headpiece of thine, Master Roland Graeme,” retorted the other, 
who was an old equerry 1 of Sir Halbert Glendinning. 

“ If it will not flourish alone,” said Roland, “ I will mix it with 
the laurel 2 and the myrtle ; 3 and I will carry them so near the 
sky that it shall make amends for their stinted growth.” 

Thus speaking, he dashed his spurs into his horse’s sides, and, 
checking him at the same time, compelled him to execute a lofty 
caracole. Sir Halbert Glendinning looked at the demeanor of 
his new attendant with that sort of melancholy pleasure with 
which those who have long followed the pursuits of life, and are 
sensible of their vanity, regard the gay, young, and buoyant 
spirits to whom existence, as yet, is only hope and promise. 

In the mean while, Adam Woodcock, the falconer, stripped 
of his masking habit, and attired, according to his rank and call- 
ing, in a green jerkin, with a hawking-bag on the one side and 
a short hanger 4 on the other, a glove on his left hand which 
reached half way up his arm, and a bonnet and feather upon his 
head, came after the party as fast as his active little galloway 
nag could trot, and immediately entered into parley with Roland 
Graeme. 

“ So, my youngster, you are once more under shadow of the 
holly branch ? ” 

“And in case to repay you, my good friend,” answered 
Roland, “ your ten groats of silver.” 

“Which, but an hour since,” said the falconer, “you had 
nearly paid me with ten inches of steel. On my faith, it is 

1 An officer who superintends the horses in the household of a nobleman. 

2 The symbol of honor and fame. 

3 The symbol of civil authority. 

4 A short broadsword curved at the point. 


i86 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


written in the book of our destiny that I must brook your dag- 
ger after all.” 

“Nay, speak not of that, my good friend,” said the youth. 
“ I would rather have broached my own bosom than yours ; but 
who could have known you in the mumming dress you wore ? ” 

“ Yes,” the falconer resumed, for both as a poet and actor he 
had his own professional share of self-conceit, “ I think I was as 
good a Howleglas as ever played part at a Shrovetide 1 revelry, 
and not a much worse Abbot of Unreason. I defy the Old 
Enemy to unmask me when I choose to keep my vizard on. 
What the devil brought the Knight on us before we had the 
game out ? You would have heard me hollo my own new ballad 
with a voice should have reached to Berwick . 2 But I pray you, 
Master Roland, be less free of cold steel on slight occasions ; 
since, but for the stuffing of my reverend doublet, I had only left 
the kirk to take my place in the kirkyard.” 

“Nay, spare me that feud,” said Roland Graeme, “we shall 
have no time to fight it out ; for, by our lord’s command, I am 
bound for Edinburgh.” 

“ I know it,” said Adam Woodcock, “ and even therefore we 
shall have time to solder up 3 this rent by the way, for Sir Hal- 
bert has appointed me your companion and guide.” 

“ Ay ? and with what purpose ? ” said the page. 

“ That,” said the falconer, “ is a question I cannot answer ; 
but I know that, be the food of the eyases washed or unwashed, 
and, indeed, whatever becomes of perch and mew, I am to go 
with you to Edinburgh, and see you safely delivered to the 
Regent at Holyrood.” 

“ How ? to the Regent ? ” said Roland, in surprise. 

“ Ay, by my faith, to the Regent,” replied Woodcock. “I 

1 Time of shrift, between the evening of the last Saturday before Lent and 
Ash Wednesday, so called from the custom of making confession; especially 
Shrove Tuesday, a day given up to sports. 

2 A fortified town in Northumberland at the mouth of the Tweed. 

3 “ Solder up,” i.e., close firmly, as if with solder or melted metal. 


THE ABBOT. 


187 

promise you that if you are not to enter his service, at least you 
are to wait upon him in the character of a retainer of our Knight 
of Avenel.” 

“ I know no right,” said the youth, “which the Knight of 
Avenel hath to transfer my service, supposing that I owe it to 
himself.” 

“ Hush, hush ! ” said the falconer ; “ that is a question I advise 
no one to stir in until he has the mountain, or the lake, or the 
march 1 of another kingdom, which is better than either, betwixt 
him and his feudal superior.” 

“ But Sir Halbert Glendinning,” said the youth, “ is not my 
feudal superior; nor has he aught of authority” — 

“ I pray you, my son, to rein your tongue,” answered Adam 
Woodcock ; “ my Lord’s displeasure, if you provoke it, will be 
worse to appease than my Lady’s. The touch of his least finger 
were heavier than her hardest blow. And, by my faith, he is 
a man of steel, as true and as pure, but as hard and as pitiless. 
You remember the Cock of Capperlaw, whom he hanged over 
his gate for a mere mistake, — a poor yoke of oxen taken in Scot- 
land, when he thought he was taking them in English land? I 
loved the Cock of Capperlaw ; the Kerrs had not an honester 
man in their clan, and they have had men that might have been 
a pattern to the Border, — men that would not have lifted 2 under 
twenty cows at once, and would have held themselves dishonored 
if they had taken a drift 3 of sheep, or the like, but always man- 
aged their raids in full credit and honor. But see, his Worship 
halts, and we are close by the bridge. Ride up — ride up — we 
must have his last instructions.” 

It was as Adam Woodcock said. In the hollow way descend- 
ing towards the bridge, which was still in the guardianship of 
Peter Bridgeward, as he was called, though he was now very 
old, Sir Halbert Glendinning halted his retinue, and beckoned 
to Woodcock and Graeme to advance to the head of the train. 

1 Anglo-Saxon mearc or mark (“ boundary line ”) ; hence, a borderland. 

2 Stolen. 3 A herd. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


1 88 

“ Woodcock,” said he, “ thou knowest to whom thou art to 
conduct this youth. And thou, young man, obey discreetly and 
with diligence the orders that shall be given thee. Curb thy 
vain and peevish temper. Be just, true, and faithful ; and there 
is in thee that which may raise thee many a degree above thy 
present station. Neither shalt thou — always supposing thine 
efforts to be fair and honest — want the protection and counte- 
nance of Avenel.” 

Leaving them in front of the bridge, the center tower of which 
now began to cast a prolonged shade upon the river, the Knight 
of Avenel turned to the left, without crossing the river, and pur- 
sued his way towards the chain of hills within whose recesses are 
situated the Lake and Castle of Avenel. There remained be- 
hind, the falconer, Roland Graeme, and a domestic of the Knight, 
of inferior rank, who was left with them to look after their horses 
while on the road, to carry their baggage, and to attend to their 
convenience. 

So soon as the more numerous body of riders had turned off 
to pursue their journey westward, those whose route lay across 
the river, and was directed towards the north, summoned the 
bridgeward , 1 and demanded a free passage. 

“ I will not lower the bridge,” answered Peter, in a voice 
querulous with age and ill humor. “ Come Papist, come Protes- 
tant, ye are all the same. The Papist threatened us with pur- 
gatory, and fleeched 2 us with pardons ; the Protestant mints 3 at 
us with his sword, and cuittles 4 us with the liberty of conscience ; 
but never a one of either says, ‘ Peter, there is your penny.’ I 
am well tired of all this, and for no man shall the bridge fall that 
pays me not ready money ; and I would have you know I care 
as little for Geneva as for Rome ; as little for homilies as for 
pardons; and the silver pennies are the only passports I will 
hear of.” 

“ Here is a proper old chuff! ” said Woodcock to his companion. 

1 Bridgekeeper. 2 Coaxed. 3 Takes aim. 

4 Kittles ; tickles or wheedles. 


THE ABBOT. 


\ Then, raising his voice, he exclaimed, “ Hark thee, dog, bridge- 
$ ward, villain, dost thou think we have refused thy namesake 
13 Peter’s pence 1 to Rome, to pay thine at the Bridge of Kenna- 
tj quhair ? Let thy bridge down instantly to the followers of the 
1 House of Avenel, or by the hand of my father, — and that 
handled many a bridle rein, for he was a bluff Yorkshireman, — I 
say, by my father’s hand, our Knight will blow thee out of thy 
solan-goose’s 2 nest there in the middle of the water, with the 
light falconet which we are bringing southward from Edinburgh 
to-morrow.” 

The bridgeward heard, and muttered, “A plague on falcon 
and falconet, on cannon and demicannon, and all the barking 
bulldogs whom they halloo against stone and lime in these our 
days ! It was a merry time when there was little besides handy 
blows, and it may be a flight of arrows that harmed an ashler 
wall 3 as little as so many hailstones. But we must jouk and let 
the jaw gang by.” 4 Comforting himself in his state of dimin- 
ished consequence with this pithy old proverb, Peter Bridgeward 
lowered the drawbridge, and permitted them to pass over. At 
the sight of his white hair, albeit it discovered a visage equally 
peevish through age and misfortune, Roland was inclined to give 
him an alms, but Adam Woodcock prevented him. “ E’en let 
him pay the penalty of his former churlishness and greed,” he 
said ; “ the wolf, when he has lost his teeth, should be treated no 
better than a cur.” 

Leaving the bridgeward to lament the alteration of times, 
which sent domineering soldiers and feudal retainers to his place 
of passage, instead of peaceful pilgrims, and reduced him to be- 
come the oppressed, instead of playing the extortioner, the trav- 
elers turned them northward; and Adam Woodcock, well ac- 

1 Contributions from Roman Catholics for the maintenance of the Pope. 

2 The gannet; a sea bird, white with black wing-tips, which frequents 
the islands of the Scottish coast. 

3 “Ashler wall,” i.e., a wall made of stone rough cut from the quarry. 

4 “ Jouk,” etc., i.e., bow our heads and let the wave go by. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


190 

quainted with that part of the country, proposed to cut short a 
considerable portion of the road by traversing the little vale of 
Glendearg, so famous for the adventures which befell therein 
during the earlier part of the Benedictine’s manuscript . 1 With 
these, and with the thousand commentaries, representations, and 
misrepresentations to which they had given rise, Roland Graeme 
was, of course, well acquainted ; for, in the Castle of Avenel, as 
well as in other great establishments, the inmates talked of noth- 
ing so often, or with such pleasure, as of the private affairs of 
their Lord and Lady. But while Roland was viewing with interest 
these haunted scenes, in which things were said to have passed 
beyond the ordinary laws of nature, Adam Woodcock was still 
regretting in his secret soul the unfinished revel and the unsung 
ballad, and kept every now and then breaking out with some 
such verses as these : — 

“ The Friars of Fail drank berry-brown ale, 

The best that e’er was tasted ; 

The Monks of Melrose made gude kale 
On F ridays, when they fasted. 

Saint Monance’ sister, 

The gray priest kist her — 

Fiend save the company! 

Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix, 

Under the greenwood tree.” 

“By my hand, friend Woodcock,” said the page, “though I 
know you for a hardy gospeler, that fear neither saint nor devil, 
yet, if I were you, I would not sing your profane songs in this 
valley of Glendearg, considering what has happened here be- 
fore our time.” 2 

“A straw for your wandering spirits!” said Adam Woodcock. 

1 In Scott’s introduction to The Monastery, that work and The Abbot are 
declared to have been given to him in manuscript by a Benedictine monk, 
whom he met at Melrose. 

2 It was considered imprudent to speak of fairies, especially when passing 
near their haunts. 


THE ABBOT. 


I9i 

“ I mind them no more than an earn 1 cares for a string of wild 
geese ; they have all fled since the pulpits were filled with honest 
men, and the people’s ears with sound doctrine. Nay, I have a 
touch at them in my ballad, an I had but had the good luck to 
have it sung to end ; ” and again he set off in the same key : — 

“ From haunted spring and grassy ring, 

Troop goblin, elf, and fairy; 

And the kelpie must flit from the black bog-pit, 

And the brownie must not tarry; 

To Limbo-lake , 2 
Their way they take, 

With scarce the pith to flee. 

Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix, 

Under the greenwood tree.” 

“ I think,” he added, “ that could Sir Halbert’s patience have 
stretched till we came that length, he would have had a hearty 
laugh, and that is what he seldom enjoys.” 

“ If it be all true that men tell of his early life,” 3 said Roland, 
“ he has less right to laugh at goblins than most men.” 

“Ay, if it be all true,” answered Adam Woodcock; “but who 
can insure us of that ? Moreover, these were but tales the 
monks used to gull us simple laymen withal ; they knew that 
fairies and hobgoblins brought aves and paternosters 4 into repute ; 
but, now we have given up worship of images in wood and stone, 
methinks it were no time to be afraid of bubbles in the water, or 
shadows in the air.” 

“ However,” said Roland Graeme, “ as the Catholics say they 
do not worship wood or stone, but only as emblems of the holy 
saints, and not as things holy in themselves ” — 

“ Pshaw ! pshaw ! ” answered the falconer ; “ a rush for their 
prating. They told us another story when these baptized idols 

1 An eagle. 2 A supposed borderland of hell. 

3 See Introduction. 

4 The Lord’s Prayer, named from the first words of the Latin version. 


192 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


of theirs brought pikestaves 1 and sandaled shoon 2 from all the 
four winds, and whillied 3 the old women out of their corn and 
their candle ends, and their butter, bacon, wool, and cheese, and 
when not so much as a gray groat escaped tithing.” 4 

Roland Grseme had been long taught, by necessity, to con- 
sider his form of religion as a profound secret, and to say noth- 
ing whatever in its defense when assailed, lest he should draw on 
himself the suspicion of belonging to the unpopular and exploded 
Church. He therefore suffered Adam Woodcock to triumph 
without further opposition, marveling in his own mind whether 
any of the goblins, formerly such active agents, would avenge 
his rude raillery before they left the valley of Glendearg. But 
no such consequences followed. They passed the night quietly 
in a cottage in the glen, and the next day resumed their route 
to Edinburgh. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

“ / ~P V HIS, then, is Edinburgh ? ” said the youth, as the fellow- 
JL travelers arrived at one of the heights to the southward, 
which commanded a view of the great northern capital. “ This 
is that Edinburgh of which we have heard so much ! ” 

“ Even so,” said the falconer; “yonder stands Auld Reekie . 5 
You may see the smoke hover over her at twenty miles’ dis- 
tance, as the goshawk hangs over a plump 6 of young wild ducks. 
Ay, yonder is the heart of Scotland, and each throb that she 
gives is felt from the edge of Solway to Duncan’s-bay-head . 7 

1 Staves with pointed iron heads, capable of serving as weapons, and car- 
ried by pilgrims. 

2 Shoes. Sandals, or flat soles held in place by thongs, were worn by 
pilgrims. 

3 Deceived. 4 gee Note 1, p. 130. 

5 Old Smoky, Scotch name for Edinburgh. 6 Flock. 

7 Solway Frith at the southern, and Duncansbay Head, or Promontory, at 
the northern, extremities of Scotland. 


THE ABBOT. 


*93 


See, yonder is the old Castle ; and see to the right, on yon rising 
ground, that is the Castle of Craigmillar, which I have known a 
merry place in my time.” 

“ Was it not there,” said the page in a low voice, “ that the 
Queen held her court ? ” 

“ Ay, ay,” replied the falconer, “ Queen she was then, though 
you must not call her so now. Well, they may say what they 
will, many a true heart will be sad for Mary Stuart , 1 e’en if all 
be true men say of her ; for look you, Master Roland, she was 
the loveliest creature to look upon that I ever saw with eye, and 
no lady in the land liked better the fair flight of a falcon. I 
was at the great match on Roslin Moor 2 betwixt Bothwell 3 — 
he was a black sight to her, that Bothwell — and the Baron of 
Roslin, who could judge a hawk’s flight as well as any man in 
Scotland. A butt of Rhenish 4 and a ring of gold was the wager, 
and it was flown as fairly for as ever was red 5 gold and bright 
wine. And to see her there on her white palfry, that flew as if 
it scorned to touch more than the heather blossom ; and to hear 
her voice, as clear and sweet as the mavis’s whistle, mix among 
our jolly whooping and whistling ; and to mark all the nobles 
dashing round her, happiest he who got a word or a look, tear- 
ing through moss 6 and hagg , 7 and venturing neck and limb to 
gain the praise of a bold rider, and the blink of a bonny Queen’s 
bright eye ! She will see little hawking where she lies now. 
Ay, ay, pomp and pleasure pass away as speedily as the wap 8 of 
a falcon’s wing.” 

“ And where is this poor Queen now confined? ” said Roland 
Graeme, interested in the fate of a woman whose beauty and 
grace had made so strong an impression even on the blunt and 
careless character of Adam Woodcock. 

1 At this time dethroned and in prison. 

2 A barony seven miles south of Edinburgh. 3 See Introduction. 

4 Rhine wine. 

5 Gold was usually called red in Scotland, and silver, white. 

6 A marshy, peaty place. 7 A black shaking bog in a moss. 8 Stroke. 

*3 


94 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Where is she now imprisoned ? ” said honest Adam. “ Why, 
in some castle in the north, they say. I know not where, for 
my part, nor is it worth while to vex one’s sell 1 anent 2 what can- 
not be mended. An she had guided her power well whilst 
she had it, she had not come to so evil a pass. Men say she 
must resign her crown to this little baby of a prince , 3 for that 
they will trust her with it no longer. Our master has been as 
busy as his neighbors in all this work. If the Queen should 
come to her own again, Avenel Castle is like to smoke for it, 
unless he makes his bargain all the better.” 4 

“ In a castle in the north Queen Mary is confined ? ” said the 
page. 

“ Why, ay, they say so, at least. In a castle beyond that great 
river 5 which comes down yonder, and looks like a river, but it is 
a branch of the sea, and as bitter as brine.” 

“And amongst all her subjects,” said the page with some 
emotion, “ is there none that will adventure anything for her 
relief ? ” 

“ That is a kittle 6 question,” said the falconer ; “ and if you ask 
it often, Master Roland, I am fain to tell you that you will be 
mewed up yourself in some of those castles, if they do not prefer 
twisting your head off, to save further trouble with you. Ad- 
venture anything? Lord, why Murray has the wind in his poop 7 
now, man, and flies so high and strong that the devil a wing of 
them can match him. No, no ; there she is, and there she must 
lie, till Heaven send her deliverance, or till her son has the man- 
agement of all. But Murray will never let her loose again ; 
he knows her too well. And hark thee, we are now bound for 


1 Self. 2 About. 

3 Her son by Darnley, born June 19, 1566, who became James VI. of 
Scotland, and later, James I. of England. 

4 Is like,” etc., i.e., is likely to suffer for it, unless he makes good 
terms for himself, possibly by treachery. 

5 The Frith of Forth. 6 Ticklish. 

7 Wind, etc., i.e., a wind that blows against the poop, or stern ; hence, 
favorable. 


THE ABBOT. 


*95 


Holyrood, where thou wilt find plenty of news, and of courtiers 
to tell it. But, take my counsel, and keep a calm sough, 1 as the 
Scots say ; hear every man’s counsel, and keep your own. And 
if you hap to learn any news you like, leap not up as if you were 
to put on armor direct in the cause. Our old Mr. Wingate 
says — and he knows court cattle well — that if you are told old 
King Coul 2 is come alive again, you should turn it off with, ‘And 
is he in truth? I heard not of it,’ and should seem no more 
moved than if one told you, by way of novelty, that old King 
Coul was dead and buried. Wherefore, look well to your bear- 
ing, Mr. Roland, for, I promise you, you come among a genera- 
tion that are keen as a hungry hawk. And never be dagger out 
of sheath at every wry word you hear spoken ; for you will find 
as hot blades 3 as yourself, and then will be letting of blood with- 
out advice either of leech or almanac.” 

“ You shall see how staid I will be, and how cautious, my good 
friend,” said Graeme ; “ but, Blessed Lady, what goodly house is 
that which is lying all in ruins so close to the city? Have they 
been playing at the Abbot of Unreason here, and ended the 
gambol by burning the church ? ” 

“ There again now,” replied his companion, “ you go down the 
wind like a wild haggard, 4 that minds neither lure nor beck. 
That is a question you should have asked in as low a tone as 
I shall answer it.” 

“ If I stay here long,” said Roland Grseme, “ it is like I shall 
lose the natural use of my voice. But what are the ruins then ? ” 

“The Kirk of Field,” 5 said the falconer in a low and impressive 
whisper, laying at the same time his finger on his lips ; “ ask no 

1 Breath. 

2 The ancient British king celebrated in the nursery rhyme as '* a jolly old 
soul.” 

3 “ Hot blades,” i.e., quarrelsome fellows. 

4 A young or untrained hawk. 

5 The collegiate church of St. Mary’s in the Fields, to which belonged the 
lonely and ruined house wherein Lord Darnley, Mary’s second husband, was 
lodged by the Queen, and was blown up by Bothwell in 1567. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


196 

more about it ; somebody got foul play, and somebody got the 
blame of it ; and the game began there which perhaps may not 
be played out in our time. Poor Henry Darnley! to be an ass, 
he understood somewhat of a hawk ; but they sent him on the 
wing through the air himself one bright moonlight night.” 

The memory of this catastrophe was so recent that the page 
averted his eyes with horror from the scathed ruins in which 
it had taken place ; and the accusations against the Queen, to 
which it had given rise, came over his mind with such strength 
as to balance the compassion he had begun to entertain for her 
present forlorn situation. 

It was, indeed, with that agitating state of mind which arises 
partly from horror, but more from anxious interest and curiosity, 
that young Graeme found himself actually traversing the scene 
of those tremendous events, the report of which had disturbed 
the most distant solitudes in Scotland, like the echoes of distant 
thunder rolling among the mountains. 

“Now,” he thought, “now or never shall I become a man, 
and bear my part in those deeds which the simple inhabitants of 
our hamlets repeat to each other as if they were wrought by 
beings of a superior order to their own. I will know now where- 
fore the Knight of Avenel carries his crest so much above those 
of the neighboring baronage, and how it is that men, by valor and 
wisdom, work their way from the hoddin-gray 1 coat to the cloak 
of scarlet and gold. Men say I have not much wisdom to recom- 
mend me ; and if that be true, courage must do it ; for I will be 
a man amongst living men, or a dead corpse amongst the dead.” 

From these dreams of ambition he turned his thoughts to 
those of pleasure, and began to form many conjectures, — when 
and where he should see Catherine Seyton, and in what manner 
their acquaintance was to be renewed. With such conjectures he 
was amusing himself, when he found that they had entered the 
city, and all other feelings were suspended in the sensation of 
giddy astonishment with which an inhabitant of the country is 
* Cloth in the natural color of the wool, worn by peasantry. 


THE ABBOT. 197 

affected, when, for the first time, he finds himself in the streets of 
a large and populous city, a unit in the midst of thousands. 

The principal street of Edinburgh was then, as now, one of 
the most spacious in Europe. The extreme height of the houses, 
and the variety of Gothic gables, and battlements, and balconies, 
by which the sky line on each side was crowned and terminated, 
together with the width of the street itself, might have struck 
with surprise a more practiced eye than that of young Graeme. 
The population, close packed within the walls of the city, and at 
this time increased by the number of the lords of the King’s party 
who had thronged to Edinburgh to wait upon the Regent Mur- 
ray, absolutely swarmed like bees on the wide and stately street. 
Instead of the shop windows, which are now calculated for the 
display of goods, the traders had their open booths projecting 
on the street, in which, as in the fashion of the modern bazaars, 
all was exposed which they had upon sale. And though the 
commodities were not of the richest kinds, yet Grseme thought 
he beheld the wealth of the whole world in the various bales of 
Flanders cloths, and the specimens of tapestry; and, at other 
places, the display of domestic utensils and pieces of plate struck 
him with wonder. The sight of cutlers’ booths, furnished with 
swords and poniards, which were manufactured in Scotland, and 
with pieces of defensive armor, imported from Flanders, added to 
his surprise ; and, at every step, he found so much to admire and 
to gaze upon, that Adam Woodcock had no little difficulty in pre- 
vailing on him to advance through such a scene of enchantment. 

The sight of the crowds which filled the streets was equally a 
subject of wonder. Here a gay lady, in her muffler, or silken 
veil, traced her way delicately, a gentleman usher making way 
for her, a page bearing up her train, and a waiting gentlewoman 
carrying her Bible, thus intimating that her purpose was towards 
the church. There he might see a group of citizens bending the 
same way, with their short Flemish cloaks, wide trousers, and 
high-caped doublets, a fashion to which, as well as to their bon- 
net and feather, the Scots were long faithful. Then, again, came 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


198 

the clergyman himself, in his black Geneva cloak and band, 
lending a grave and attentive ear to the discourse of several per- 
sons who accompanied him, and who were doubtless holding 
serious converse on the religious subject he was about to treat of. 
Nor did there lack passengers of a different class and appearance. 

At every turn, Roland Graeme might see a gallant raffle along 
in the newer, or French, mode, his doublet slashed, and his points 1 
of the same colors with the lining, his long sword on one side, 
and his poniard on the other, behind him a body of stout serving 
men, proportioned to his estate and quality, all of whom walked 
with the air of military retainers, and were armed with sword and 
buckler, the latter being a small round shield, not unlike the 
Highland target, having a steel spike in the center. Two of 
these parties, each headed by a person of importance, chanced to 
meet in the very center of the street, or, as it was called, “ the 
crown of the causeway,” a post of honor as tenaciously asserted 
in Scotland, as that of giving or taking the wall used to be in the 
more southern part of the island. The two leaders being of 
equal rank, and, most probably, either animated by political dis- 
like, or by recollection of some feudal enmity, marched close 
up to each other, without yielding an inch to the right or the 
left ; and neither showing the least purpose of giving way, they 
stopped for an instant, and then drew their swords. Their fol- 
lowers imitated their example ; about a score of weapons at 
once flashed in the sun, and there was an immediate clatter of 
swords and bucklers, while the followers on either side cried 
their master’s name; the one shouting, “ Help, a Leslie! a Les- 
lie ! ” 2 while the others answered with shouts of “ Seyton ! Sey- 
ton !” with the additional punning slogan , 3 “Set on! Set on! — 
bear the knaves to the ground ! ” 

If the falconer found difficulty in getting the page to go for- 

1 The tagged lacings by which the hose or breeches were tied to the 
doublet. 

2 To Leslie; a powerful Protestant family. 

3 The war cry of a Highland clan. 


THE ABBOT. 


99 


ward before, it was now perfectly impossible. He reined up his 
horse, clapped his hands, and, delighted with the fray, cried and 
shouted as fast as any of those who were actually engaged in it. 

The noise and cries thus arising on the Highgate, as it was 
called, drew into the quarrel two or three other parties of gentle- 
men and their servants, besides some single passengers, who, 
hearing a fray betwixt these two distinguished names, took part 
in it, either for love or hatred. 

The combat became now very sharp, and although the sword- 
and-buckler men made more clatter and noise than they did real 
damage, yet several good cuts were dealt among them; and 
those who wore rapiers, a more formidable weapon than the or- 
dinary Scottish swords, gave and received dangerous wounds. 
Two men were already stretched on the causeway, and the party 
of Seyton began to give ground, being much inferior in number 
to the other, with which several of the citizens had united them- 
selves, when young Roland Graeme, beholding their leader, a no- 
ble gentleman, fighting bravely, and hard pressed with numbers, 
could withhold no longer. “Adam Woodcock,” he said, “an 
you be a man, draw, and let us take part with the Seyton.” 
And without waiting a reply, or listening to the falconer’s earnest 
entreaty that he would leave alone a strife in which he had no 
concern, the fiery youth sprung from his horse, drew his short 
sword, and shouting like the rest, “A Seyton! a Seyton! Set 
on ! Set on!” thrust forward into the throng, and struck down 
one of those who was pressing hardest upon the gentleman whose 
cause he espoused. This sudden reenforcement gave spirit to 
the weaker party, who began to renew the combat with much 
alacrity, when four of the magistrates of the city, distinguished 
by their velvet cloaks and gold chains, came up with a guard of 
halberdiers and citizens, armed with long weapons, and well ac- 
customed to such service, thrust boldly forward, and compelled 
the swordsmen to separate, who immediately retreated in different 
directions, leaving such of the wounded on both sides as had 
been disabled in the fray, lying on the street. 


200 


SLR WALTER SCOTT. 


The falconer, who had been tearing his beard for anger at 
his comrade’s rashness, now rode up to him with the horse which 
he had caught by the bridle, and accosted him with, “ Master 
Roland — master goose — master madcap — will it please you to 
get on horse, and budge? or will you remain here to be carried 
to prison, and made to answer for this pretty day’s work? ” 

The page, who had begun his retreat along with the Seytons, 
just as if he had been one of their natural allies, was by this 
unceremonious application made sensible that he was acting a 
foolish part; and, obeying Adam Woodcock with some sense of 
shame, he sprung actively on horseback, and upsetting with the 
shoulder of the animal a city officer, who was making towards 
him, he began to ride smartly down the street, along with his 
companion, and was quickly out of the reach of the hue and cry. 
In fact, rencounters of the kind were so common in Edinburgh 
at that period, that the disturbance seldom excited much atten- 
tion after the affray was over, unless some person of consequence 
chanced to have fallen, an incident which imposed on his friends 
the duty of avenging his death on the first convenient opportu- 
nity. So feeble, indeed, was the arm of the police, that it was 
not unusual for such skirmishes to last for hours, where the 
parties were numerous and well matched. But at this time the 
Regent, a man of great strength of character, aware of the mis- 
chief which usually arose from such acts of violence, had pre- 
vailed with the magistrates to keep a constant guard on foot for 
preventing or separating such affrays as had happened in the 
present case. 

The falconer and his young companion were now riding down 
the Canongate , 1 and had slackened their pace to avoid attracting 
attention, the rather that there seemed to be no appearance of 
pursuit. Roland hung his head as one who was conscious his 
conduct had been none of the wisest, whilst his companion thus 
addressed him : 

“ Will you be pleased to tell me one thing, Master Roland 
1 Part of the High Street nearest the Abbey of Holyrood. 


THE ABBOT. 


201 


Graeme, and that is whether there be a devil incarnate in you or 
no ? ” 

“Truly, Master Adam Woodcock,” answered the page, “I 
would fain hope there is not.” 

“ Then,” said Adam, “ I would fain know by what other influ- 
ence or instigation you are perpetually at one end or the other 
of some bloody brawl? What, I pray, had you to do with 
these Seytons and Leslies, that you never heard the names of 
in your life before ? ” 

“ You are out there, my friend,” said Roland Graeme, " I have 
my own reasons for being a friend to the Seytons.” 

“ They must have been very secret reasons, then,” answered 
Adam Woodcock, “ for I think I could have wagered you had 
never known one of the name; and I am apt to believe still 
that it was your unhallowed passion for that clashing of cold iron, 
which has as much charm for you as the clatter of a brass pan 
hath for a hive of bees , 1 rather than any care either for Seyton 
or for Leslie, that persuaded you to thrust your fool’s head into 
a quarrel that no ways concerned you. But take this for a warn- 
ing, my young master, that if you are to draw sword with every 
man who draws sword on the Highgate here, it will be scarce 
worth your while to sheathe bilbo 2 again for the rest of your life, 
since, if I guess rightly, it will scarce endure on such terms for 
many hours ; all which I leave to your serious consideration.” 

“ By my word, Adam, I honor your advice ; and I promise 
you that I will practice by it as faithfully as if I were sworn ap- 
prentice to you, to the trade and mystery of bearing myself with 
all wisdom and safety through the new paths of life that I am 
about to be engaged in.” 

“ And therein you will do well,” said the falconer ; “ and I do 
not quarrel with you, Master Roland, for having a grain over- 
much spirit, because I know one may bring to the hand a wild 

1 Brass or tin pans are still clattered to attract a swarm of bees to a hive. 

2 A colloquial name for a sword, from Bilboa, Spain, where swords were 
made. 


202 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


hawk, which one never can a dunghill hen ; and so betwixt two 
faults you have the best on’t. But besides your peculiar genius 
for quarreling and lugging out your side companion , 1 my dear 
Master Roland, you have also the gift of peering under every 
woman’s muffler and screen, as if you expected to find an old 
acquaintance ; though were you to spy one, I should be as much 
surprised at it, well wotting how few you have seen of these same 
wild fowl, as I was at your taking so deep an interest even now 
in the Seyton.” 

“ Tush, man ! nonsense and folly ! ” answered Roland Graeme. 
“ I but sought to see what eyes these gentle hawks have got 
under their hood.” 

“Ay, but it’s a dangerous subject of inquiry,” said the fal- 
coner ; “you had better hold out your bare wrist for an eagle to 
perch upon. Look you, Master Roland, these pretty wild geese 
cannot be hawked at without risk. They have as many divings, 
boltings, and volleyings, as the most gamesome qtiarry that fal- 
con ever flew at ; and besides, every woman of them is manned 
with her husband, or her kind friend, or her brother, or her 
cousin, or her sworn servant at the least. But you heed me not, 
Master Roland, though I know the game so well. Your eye is 
all on that pretty damsel who trips down the gate before us, — by 
my certes, I will warrant her a blithe dancer either in reel or 
revel ! A pair of silver morisco 2 bells would become these pretty 
ankles as well as the jesses would suit the fairest Norway hawk.” 

“ Thou art a fool, Adam,” said the page, “ and I care not a 
button about the girl or her ankles. But, what the foul fiend, 
one must look at something ! ” 

“Very true, Master Roland Graeme,” said his guide, “but let 
me pray you to choose your objects better. Look you, there is 
scarce a woman walks this Highgate, with a silk screen or a 
pearlin 3 muffler, but, as I said before, she has either gentleman 
usher before her, or kinsman, or lover, or husband at her elbow, 

1 “ Lugging out,” etc., i.e., drawing your sword. 

2 Moorish. 3 a. kind of silk lace. 


THE ABBOT. 


20 3 


or it may be a brace of stout fellows with sword and buckler, 
not so far behind but what they can follow close. But you heed 
me no more than a goshawk minds a yellow yoldring.” 1 

“ Oh yes, I do — I do mind you indeed,” said Roland Graeme ; 
“ but hold my nag a bit — I will be with you in the exchange of 
a whistle.” So saying, and ere Adam Woodcock could finish 
the sermon which was dying on his tongue, Roland Graeme, to 
the falconer’s utter astonishment, threw him the bridle of his 
jennet, jumped off horseback, and pursued down one of the 
closes, or narrow lanes, which, opening under a vault, terminate 
upon the main street, the very maiden to whom his friend had 
accused him of showing so much attention, and who had turned 
down the pass in question. 

“ St. Mary, St. Magdalen , 2 St. Benedict , 3 St. Barnabas ! ” 4 said 
the poor falconer, when he found himself thus suddenly brought 
to a pause in the midst of the Canongate, and saw his young 
charge start off like a madman in quest of a damsel whom he 
had never, as Adam supposed, seen in his life before, — “ St. Satan 
and St. Beelzebub , 5 — for this would make one swear saint and 
devil, — what can have come over the lad, with a wanion ! And 
what shall I do the whilst? He will have his throat cut, the poor 
lad, as sure as I was born at the foot of Roseberry-Topping. 
Could I find some one to hold the horses! but they are as sharp 
here northaway as in canny Yorkshire herself, and quit bridle, 
quit titt , 6 as we say. An I could but see one of our folks now, 
a holly sprig were worth a gold tassel ; or could I but see one of 
the Regent’s men ; but to leave the horses to a stranger, that I 

1 European finch or yellow-hammer. 

2 Commemorated, July 22d, as ointment-bearer and equal of the Apostles. 

3 Founder of the Benedictine order of monks, which was remarkable for 
the mildness of its discipline and the attention given to learning. A large 
church, close to the mansion of the Seytons, and richly endowed by this fam- 
ily, was dedicated to him. 

4 Said to have been stoned by the Jews of Salamis about A.D. 64. 

5 The chief of evil spirits. 

6 “ Quit bridle,” etc., i.e., let go the bridle, lose the horse. 


204 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


cannot, and to leave the place while the lad is in jeopardy, that 
I wonot.” 

We must leave the falconer, however, in the midst of his dis- 
tress, and follow the hot-headed youth who was the cause of his 
perplexity. 

The latter part of Adam Woodcock’s sage remonstrance had 
been in a great measure lost upon Roland, for whose benefit it 
was intended ; because, in one of the female forms which tripped 
along the street, muffled in a veil of striped silk, like the women 
of Brussels at this day, his eye had discerned something which 
closely resembled the exquisite shape and spirited bearing of 
Catherine Seyton. During all the grave advice which the fal- 
coner was dinning in his ears, his eye continued intent upon so 
interesting an object of observation ; and at length, as the damsel, 
just about to dive under one of the arched passages which 
afforded an outlet to the Canongate from the houses beneath (a 
passage graced by a projecting shield of arms supported by two 
huge foxes of stone), had lifted her veil for the purpose perhaps 
of descrying who the horseman was who for some time had eyed 
her so closely, young Roland saw, under the shade of the silken ' 
plaid, enough of the bright azure eyes, fair locks, and blithe 
features, to induce him, like an inexperienced, rash madcap, 
whose willful ways never had been traversed by contradiction, 
nor much subjected to consideration, to throw the bridle of his 
horse into Adam Woodcock’s hand, and leave him to play the 
waiting gentleman, while he dashed down the paved court after 
Catherine Seyton, all as aforesaid. 

Women’s wits are proverbially quick, but apparently those of 
Catherine suggested no better expedient than fairly to betake 
herself to speed of foot, in hopes of baffling the page’s vivac- 
ity by getting safely lodged before he could discover where. 
But a youth of eighteen, in pursuit of a mistress, is not so easily 
outstripped. Catherine fled across a paved court, decorated 
with large formal vases of stone, in which yews, cypresses, and 
other evergreens vegetated in somber sullenness, and gave a 


THE ABBOT. 


205 


correspondent degree of solemnity to the high and heavy build- 
ing in front of which they were placed as ornaments, aspiring 
towards a square portion of the blue hemisphere corresponding 
exactly in extent to the quadrangle in which they were stationed, 
and all around which rose huge black walls, exhibiting windows 
in rows of five stories, with heavy architraves over each, bearing 
armorial and religious devices. 

Through this court Catherine Seyton flashed like a hunted doe, 
making the best use of those pretty legs which had attracted the 
commendation even of the reflective and cautious Adam Wood- 
cock. She hastened towards a large door in the center of the 
lower front of the court, pulled the bobbin 1 till the latch flew up, 
and ensconced herself in the ancient mansion. But, if she fled 
like a doe, Roland Graeme followed with the speed and ardor of 
a youthful staghound, loosed for the first time on his prey. He 
kept her in view in spite of her efforts ; for it is remarkable what 
an advantage, in such a race, the gallant who desires to see, 
possesses over the maiden who wishes not to be seen ; an advan- 
tage which I have known counterbalance a great start in point 
of distance. In short, he saw the waving of her screen, or veil, 
at one corner, heard the tap of her foot, light as that was, as it 
crossed the court, and caught a glimpse of her figure just as she 
entered the door of the mansion. 

Roland Graeme, inconsiderate and headlong as we have de- 
scribed him, having no knowledge of real life but from the 
romances which he had read, and not an idea of checking him- 
self in the midst of any eager impulse, possessed, besides, of 
much courage and readiness, never hesitated for a moment to 
approach the door through which the object of his search had 
disappeared. He, too, pulled the bobbin, and the latch, though 
heavy and massive, answered to the summons, and arose. The 
page entered with the same precipitation which had marked his 
whole proceeding, and found himself in a large hall, or vestibule, 
dimly enlightened by latticed casements of painted glass, and 
1 A little knob hanging to a string fastened to a latch. 


206 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

rendered yet dimmer through the exclusion of the sunbeams, 
owing to the height of the walls of those buildings by which the 
courtyard was inclosed. The walls of the hall were surrounded 
with suits of ancient and rusted armor, interchanged with huge 
and massive stone scutcheons, bearing double tressures , 1 fleured 2 
and counter-fleured, wheat sheaves, coronets, and so forth, things 
to which Roland Graeme gave not a moment’s attention. 

In fact, he only deigned to observe the figure of Catherine 
Seyton, who, deeming herself safe in the hall, had stopped to 
take breath after her course, and was reposing herself for a 
moment on a large oaken settle which stood at the upper end 
of the hall. The noise of Roland’s entrance at once disturbed 
her ; she started up with a faint scream of surprise, and escaped 
through one of the several folding doors which opened into 
this apartment as a common center. This door, which Roland 
Graeme instantly approached, opened on a large and well-lighted 
gallery, at the upper end of which he could hear several voices, 
and the noise of hasty steps approaching towards the hall or ves- 
tibule. A little recalled to sober thought by an appearance of 
serious danger, he was deliberating whether he should stand fast 
or retire, when Catherine Seyton reentered from a side door, 
running towards him with as much speed as a few minutes since 
she had fled from him. 

“ Oh, what mischief brought you hither ? ” she said. “ Fly — 
fly, or you are a dead man, — or stay — they come — flight is 
impossible — say you came to ask for Lord Seyton.” 

She sprung from him and disappeared through the door by 
which she had made her second appearance ; and, at the same 
instant, a pair of large folding doors at the upper end of the gal- 
lery flew open with vehemence, and six or seven young gentle- 
men, richly dressed, pressed forward into the apartment, having, 
for the greater part, their swords drawn. 

1 Borders. 

2 Bearing fleurs-de-lis. 


THE ABBOT. 


207 


“ Who is it,” said one, “ dare intrude on us in our own mansion ? ” 

“ Cut him to pieces,” said another ; “ let him pay for this day’s 
insolence and violence ; he is some follower of the Rothes.” 1 

“No, by St. Mary,” said another; “he is a follower of the 
archfiend and ennobled clown, Halbert Glendinning, who takes 
the style of Avenel ; once a Church vassal, now a pillager of the 
Church.” 

“ It is so,” said a fourth ; “ I know him by the holly sprig, 
which is their cognizance. Secure the door ; he must answer for 
this insolence.” 

Two of the gallants, hastily drawing their weapons, passed 
on to the door by which Roland had entered the hall, and 
stationed themselves there as if to prevent his escape. The 
others advanced on Graeme, who had just sense enough to per- 
ceive that any attempt at resistance would be alike fruitless and 
imprudent. At once, and by various voices, none of which 
sounded amicably, the page was required to say who he was, 
whence he came, his name, his errand, and who sent him hither. 
The number of the questions demanded of him at once, afforded 
a momentary apology for his remaining silent, and ere that brief 
truce had elapsed, a personage entered the hall at whose ap- 
pearance those who had gathered fiercely around Roland fell 
back with respect. 

This was a tall man, whose dark hair was already grizzled, 
though his eye and haughty features retained all the animation 
of youth. The upper part of his person was undressed to his 
Holland shirt, 2 whose ample folds were stained with blood. But 
he wore a mantle of crimson, lined with rich fur, cast around 
him, which supplied the deficiency of his dress. On his head 
he had a crimson velvet bonnet, looped up on one side with a 
small golden chain of many links, which, going thrice around the 
hat, was fastened by a medal, agreeable to the fashion amongst 
the grandees of the time. 

1 The Leslie family, the head of which was the Earl of Rothes. 

2 “ Holland shirt,” i.e., of linen made in Holland. 


208 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Whom have you here, sons and kinsmen,” said he, “ around 
whom you crowd thus roughly? Know you not that the shelter 
of this roof should secure every one fair treatment, who shall 
come hither either in fair peace, or in open and manly hostility ? ” 

“ But here, my lord,” answered one of the youths, “ is a knave 
who comes on treacherous espial ! ” 1 

“ I deny the charge ! ” said Roland Graeme boldly. “ I came 
to inquire after my Lord Seyton.” 

“A likely tale,” answered his accusers, “in the mouth of a 
follower of Glendinning ! ” 

“ Stay, young men,” said the Lord Seyton, for it was that 
nobleman himself, “let me look at this youth. By Heaven, it is 
the very same who came so boldly to my side not very many 
minutes since, when some of my own knaves bore themselves 
with more respect to their own worshipful safety than to mine! 
Stand back from him, for he well deserves honor and a friendly 
welcome at your hands, instead of this rough treatment.” 

They fell back on all sides, obedient to Lord Seyton’s com- 
mands, who, taking Roland Graeme by the hand, thanked him 
for his prompt and gallant assistance, adding that he nothing 
doubted the same interest which he had taken in his cause in the 
affray, brought him hither to inquire after his hurt. 

Roland bowed low in acquiescence. 

“ Or is there anything in which I can serve you, to show my 
sense of your ready gallantry ? ” 

But the page, thinking it best to abide by the apology for his 
visit which the Lord Seyton had so aptly himself suggested, 
replied that to be assured of his lordship’s safety had been the only 
cause of his intrusion. He judged, he added, he had seen him 
receive some hurt in the affray. 

“A trifle,” said Lord Seyton ; “ I had but stripped my doublet, 
that the chirurgeon 2 might put some dressing on the paltry 
scratch, when these rash boys interrupted us with their clamor.” 

Roland Graeme, making a low obeisance, was now about to 
1 The act of spying. 2 Surgeon. 


THE ABBOT. 


209 


depart, for, relieved from the danger of being treated as a spy, 
he began next to fear that his companion, Adam Woodcock, 
whom he had so unceremoniously quitted, would either bring 
him into some further dilemma, by venturing into the hotel in 
quest of him, or ride off and leave him behind altogether. But 
Lord Seyton did not permit him to escape so easily. “ Tarry,” 
he said, “young man, and let me know thy rank and name. 
The Seyton has of late been more wont to see friends and fol- 
lowers shrink from his side, than to receive aid from strangers; 
but a new world may come round, in which he may have the 
chance of rewarding his well-wishers.” 

“ My name is Roland Graeme, my lord,” answered the youth, 
“ a page, who, for the present, is in the service of Sir Halbert 
Glendinning.” 

“ I said so from the first,” said one of the young men. “ My 
life I will wager, that this is a shaft out of the heretic’s quiver ; 1 
a stratagem from first to last, to injeer 2 into your confidence 
some espial 3 of his own. They know how to teach both boys 
and women to play the intelligencers.” 

“ That is false, if it be spoken of me,” said Roland ; “ no man 
in Scotland should teach me such a foul part ! ” 

“ I believe thee, boy,” said Lord Seyton, “ for thy strokes were 
too fair to be dealt upon an understanding with those that were 
to receive them. Credit me, however, I little expected to have 
help at need from one of your master’s household ; and I would 
know what moved thee in my quarrel, to thine own endangering ! ” 

“ So please you, my lord,” said Roland, “ I think my master 
himself would not have stood by and seen an honorable man 
borne to earth by odds, if his single arm could help him. Such, 
at least, is the lesson we were taught in chivalry at the Castle of 
Avenel.” 

“The good seed hath fallen into good ground, young man,” 
said Seyton ; “ but alas ! if thou practice such honorable war in 

1 “ The heretic’s quiver,” i.e., from Murray. 

2 To insinuate into. More usually, ingyre. 

H 


3 Here means a spy. 


210 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


these dishonorable days, when right is everywhere borne down 
by mastery, thy life, my poor boy, will be but a short one.” 

“ Let it be short, so it be honorable,” said Roland Graeme ; 
“ and permit me now, my lord, to commend me to your grace, 
and to take my leave. A comrade waits with my horse in the 
street.” 

“ Take this, however, young man,” said Lord Seyton , 1 undo- 
ing from his bonnet the golden chain and medal, “ and wear it 
for my sake.” 1 

With no little pride Roland Graeme accepted the gift, which 
he hastily fastened around his bonnet, as he had seen gallants 
wear such an ornament, and renewing his obeisance to the 
baron, left the hall, traversed the court, and appeared in the street, 
just as Adam Woodcock, vexed and anxious at his delay, had 
determined to leave the horses to their fate, and go in quest of 
his youthful comrade. “ Whose barn hast thou broken next ? ” 2 
he exclaimed, greatly relieved by his appearance, although his 
countenance indicated that he had passed through an agitating 
scene. 

“Ask me no questions,” said Roland, leaping gayly on his 
horse ; “ but see how short time it takes to win a chain of gold,” 
pointing to that which he now wore. 

“ Now, God forbid that thou hast either stolen it, or reft it by 
violence,” said the falconer ; “ for, otherwise, I wot not how the 
devil thou couldst compass it. I have been often here, — ay, for 
months at an end , 3 and no one gave me either chain or medal.” 

“ Thou seest I have got one on shorter acquaintance with the 
city,” answered the page ; “ but set thine honest heart at rest ; 

1 George, fifth Lord Seyton, was immovably faithful to Queen Mary during 
all the mutabilities of her fortune. After the battle of Langside, he was in 
exile for two years. He rose to favor in the reign of James VI., and re- 
sumed his paternal property. 

* Reference to the practice of breaking into barns to steal grain ; hence, 
“ barnsbreaking ” became a synonym for lawless frolic. 

3 “At an end,” i.e., at a time. 


THE ABBOT. 


211 


that which is fairly won and freely given is neither reft nor 
stolen.” 

“ Marry, hang thee, with thy fanfarona 1 about thy neck! ” said 
the falconer. “ I think water will not drown, nor hemp strangle 
thee. Thou hast been discarded as my Lady’s page, to come in 
again as my Lord’s squire ; and for following a noble young dam- 
sel into some great household, thou gettest a chain and medal, 
where another would have had the baton 2 across his shoulders, if 
he missed having the dirk in his body. But here we come in front 
of the old Abbey. Bear thy good luck with you when you cross 
these paved stones, and, by Our Lady, you may brag 3 Scotland.” 

As he spoke, they checked their horses where the huge old 
vaulted entrance to the Abbey, or Palace, of Holyrood crossed 
the termination of the street down which they had proceeded. 
The courtyard of the palace opened within this gloomy porch, 
showing the front of an irregular pile of monastic buildings, one 
wing of which is still extant, forming a part of the modern 
palace, erected in the days of Charles I . 4 

At the gate of the porch the falconer and page resigned 
their horses to the serving man in attendance ; the falconer com- 
manding him, with an air of authority, to carry them safely to the 
stables. “ We follow,” he said, “the Knight of Avenel. — We 
must bear ourselves for what we are here,” said he in a whisper 
to Roland, “ for every one here is looked on as they demean 
themselves, and he that is too modest must to the wall , 5 as the 
proverb says ; therefore cock thy bonnet, man, and let us brook 
the causeway bravely.” 

Assuming, therefore, an air of consequence, corresponding to 
what he supposed to be his master’s importance and quality, 
Adam Woodcock led the way into the courtyard of the Palace 
of Holyrood. 

1 A name given to the gold chains worn by the military men of the time. 

2 Staff. 3 Boast of. e 

4 King of England from 1625 until his execution in 1649. 

5 “ Must to the wall,” i.e., will be set aside; disregarded. 


212 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


HE youthful page paused on the entrance of the courtyard, 



i and implored his guard to give him a moment’s breathing 
space. “ Let me but look around me, man,” said he ; “ you con- 
sider not I have never seen such a scene as this before. And this 
is Holyrood, — the resort of the gallant and gay, and the fair, and 
the wise, and the powerful ! ” 

“Ay, marry, is it!” said Woodcock; “but I wish I could 
hood thee as they do the hawks, for thou starest as wildly as if 
you sought another fray or another fanfarona. I would I had 
thee safely housed, for thou lookest wild as a goshawk.” 

It was indeed no common sight to Roland, — the vestibule of a 
palace, traversed by its various groups, some radiant with gayety, 
some pensive, and apparently weighed down by affairs Concern- 
ing the state, or concerning themselves. Here the hoary states- 
man, with his cautious yet commanding look, his furred cloak and 
sable pantoufles; there the soldier in buff and steel, his long 
sword jarring against the pavement, and his whiskered upper lip 
and frowning brow looking an habitual defiance of danger, which 
perhaps was not always made good ; there again passed my 
lord’s serving man, high of heart, and bloody of hand, humble 
to his master and his master’s equals, insolent to all others. To 
these might be added the poor suitor, with his anxious look and 
depressed mien ; the officer, full of his brief authority, elbowing 
his betters, and possibly his benefactors, out of the road ; the 
proud priest, who sought a better benefice ; 1 the proud baron, 
who sought a grant of church lands ; the robber chief, who came 
to solicit a pardon for the injuries he had inflicted on his neigh- 
bors ; the plundered franklin , 2 r/ho came to seek vengeance for 

C 

1 A church office with a revenue ; hence, the revenue itself. 

2 A freeholder. 


THE ABBOT. 


21 3 


that which he had himself received. Besides, there was the 
mustering and disposition of guards and soldiers, the dispatching 
of messengers and the receiving them, the trampling and neigh- 
ing of horses without the gate, the flashing of arms, and rustling 
of plumes, and jingling of spurs, within. In short, it was that 
gay and splendid confusion, in which the eye of youth sees all 
that is brave and brilliant, and that of experience much that is 
doubtful, deceitful, false, and hollow, — hopes that will never be 
gratified, promises which will never be fulfilled, pride in the dis- 
guise of humility, and insolence in that of frank and generous 
bounty. 

As, tired of the eager and enraptured attention which the page 
gave to a scene so new to him, Adam Woodcock endeavored to 
get him to move forward, before his exuberance of astonishment 
should attract the observation of the sharp-witted denizens of the 
court, the falconer himself became an object of attention to a 
gay menial in a dark-green bonnet and feather, with a cloak of 
corresponding color, laid down, as the phrase then went, by six 
broad bars of silver lace, and welted 1 with violet and silver. 
The words of recognition burst from both at once. “ What ! 
Adam Woodcock at court ! ” and “ What ! Michael Wing-the- 
wind! and how runs the hackit 2 greyhound bitch now ? ” 

“ The waur 3 for the wear, like ourselves, Adam ; eight years 
this grass. No four legs will carry a dog forever; but we keep 
her for the breed, and so she ’scapes Border doom . 4 But why 
stand you gazing there? I promise you, my lord has wished for 
you, and asked for you.” 

“ My Lord of Murray asked for me, and he Regent of the 
kingdom too ! ” said Adam. “ I hunger and thirst to pay my 
duty to my good lord ; but I fancy his good lordship remem- 
bers the day’s sport on Carnwath-moor ; 5 and my Drummelzier 0 

1 Edged. 2 Worn out. 3 Worse. 

4 Reference to the practice on the Border of hanging an enemy offhand 

when caught. 

5 In Lanark County, north of the Clyde. 


6 A parish in Pebbleshire. 


214 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


falcon that beat the hawks from the Isle of Man , 1 and won his 
lordship a hundred crowns from the Southern baron whom they 
called Stanley.” 

“ Nay, not to flatter thee, Adam,” said his court friend, “he 
remembers naught of thee, or of thy falcon, either. He hath 
flown many a higher flight since that, and struck his quarry, too. 
But come, come hither away ; I trust we are to be good com- 
rades on the old score.” 

“ What! ” said Adam, “ you would have me crush a pot 2 with 
you ? but I must first dispose of my eyas, where he will neither 
have girl to chase, nor lad to draw sword upon.” 

“ Is the youngster such a one ? ” said Michael. 

“Ay, by my hood, he flies at all game,” replied Woodcock. 

“ Then had he better come with us,” said Michael Wing-the- 
wind ; “ for we cannot have a proper carouse just now, only I 
would wet my lips, and so must you. I want to hear the news 
from St. Mary’s before you see my lord, and I will let you 
know how the wind sits up yonder.” 

While he thus spoke, he led the way to a side door which 
opened into the court ; and threading several dark passages with 
the air of one who knew the most secret recesses of the palace, 
conducted them to a small matted 3 chamber, where he placed 
bread and cheese and a foaming flagon of ate before the falconer 
and his young companion, who immediately did justice to the 
latter in a hearty draught which nearly emptied the measure. 
Having drawn his breath, and dashed the froth from his whiskers, 
he observed that his anxiety for the boy had made him deadly dry. 

“ Mend your draught,” said his hospitable friend, again supply- 
ing the flagon from a pitcher which stood beside. “ I know the 
way to the buttery -bar . 4 And now, mind what I say ; this 

1 An island between Britain and Ireland. 

2 “ Crush a pot,” i.e., drink. 

3 Having the floor or walls covered with woven rushes or straw. 

4 The ledge or shelf on top of the half door at the entrance to the room 
where liquors were kept and served. 


THE ABBOT. 


2I 5 


morning the Earl of Morton came to my lord in a mighty 
chafe.” 

“ What! they keep the old friendship, then? ” said Woodcock. 

“ Ay, ay, man, what else ? ” said Michael ; “ one hand must 
scratch the other . 1 But in a mighty chafe was my Lord of 
Morton, who, to say truth, looketh on such occasions altogether 
uncanny, and, as it were, fiendish ; and he says to my lord, — for 
I was in the chamber taking orders about a cast of hawks that 
are to be fetched from Darnoway ; 2 they match your long- winged 
falcons, friend Adam.” 

“ I will believe that when I see them fly as high a pitch,” 3 re- 
plied Woodcock, this professional observation forming a sort of 
parenthesis. 

“ However,” said Michael, pursuing his tale, “ my Lord of 
Morton, in a mighty chafe, asked my Lord Regent whether he 
was well dealt with, — ‘for my brother,’ said he, * should have had 
a gift to be commendator 4 of Kennaquhair, and to have all the 
temporalities 5 erected into a lordship of regality 6 for his benefit ; 
and here,’ said he, ‘ the false monks have had the insolence to 
choose a new Abbot to put his claim in my brother’s way ; an{l 
moreover, the rascality of the neighborhood have burnt and 
plundered all that was left in the Abbey, so that my brother will 
not have a house to dwell in, when he hath ousted the lazy hounds 
of priests.’ And my lord, seeing him chafed, said mildly to him, 
1 These are shrewd 7 tidings, Douglas, but I trust they be not true ; 
for Halbert Glendinning went southward yesterday, with a band 

1 “ One hand,” etc., i.e., a person with ends to gain must help those who 
can help him. 

2 Or Darnaway ; a castle in Elginshire, the ancient seat of the Earls of 
Murray, or Moray. 

2 The height to which a hawk rises before stooping to its prey. 

4 One who holds a benefice in trust until a suitable pastor is provided. 

5 The property of a religious corporation held for religious uses. 

6 “Lordship of regality,” i.e., in Scotland, a territorial jurisdiction be- 

stowed by the king ; those who received the right exercised the highest pre- 
rogatives of the Crown. 7 Harsh ; bitter. 


2l6 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


of spears, and assuredly, had either of these chances happened, 
that the monks had presumed to choose an Abbot, or that the 
Abbey had been burnt, as you say, he had taken order on the 
spot for the punishment of such insolence, and had dispatched 
us a messenger.’ And the Earl of Morton replied — now I pray 
you, Adam, to notice that I say this out of love to you and your 
lord, and also for old comradeship, and also because Sir Halbert 
hath done me good, and may again, and also because I love not 
the Earl of Morton, as indeed more fear than like him ; so then 
it were a foul deed in you to betray me. ‘ But,’ said the Earl 
to the Regent, ‘ take heed, my lord, you trust not this Glendin- 
ning too far ; he comes of churl’s blood, which was never true to 
the nobles,’ — by St. Andrew, these were his very words. ‘And 
besides,’ he said, ‘ he hath a brother, a monk in St. Mary’s, and 
walks all by his guidance, and is making friends on the Border 
with Buccleuch and with Fernieherst , 1 and will join hand with 
them, were there likelihood of a new world.’ And my lord 
answered, like a free noble lord as he is, ‘ Tush ! my Lord of 
Morton, I will be warrant for Glendinning’s faith ; and for his 
brother, he is a dreamer, that thinks of naught but book and 
breviary ; and if such hap have chanced as you tell of, I look to 
receive from Glen dinning the cowl of a hanged monk, and the 
head of a riotous churl, by way of sharp and sudden justice.’ 
And my Lord of Morton left the place, and, as it seemed to me, 
somewhat malcontent . 2 But since that time, my lord has asked 
me more than once whether there has arrived no messenger from 
the Knight of Avenel. And all this I have told you, that you 
may frame your discourse to the best purpose, for it seems to 
me that my lord will not be well pleased if aught has happened 
like what my Lord of Morton said, and if your lord hath not 
ta’en strict orders 3 with it.” 

There was something in this communication which fairly 

1 Both these Border chieftains were great friends of Queen Mary. 

2 Discontented; uneasy. 

3 “ Strict orders,” i.e., severe measures. 


THE ABBOT. 


217 


blanked the bold visage of Adam Woodcock, in spite of the re- 
enforcement which his natural hardihood had received from the 
berry-brown ale of Holyrood. 

“ What was it he said about a churl’s head, that grim Lord of 
Morton ? ” said the discontented falconer to his friend. 

“ Nay, it was my Lord Regent who said that he expected, if 
the Abbey was injured, your Knight would send him the head 
of the ringleader among the rioters.” 

“ Nay, but is this done like a good Protestant,” said Adam 
Woodcock, “ or a true Lord of the Congregation ? 1 We used to 
be their white-boys 2 and darlings when we pulled down the con- 
vents in Fife and Perthshire.” 

“Ay, but that,” said Michael, “ was when old mother Rome held 
her own, and her great folks were determined she should have no 
shelter for her head in Scotland. But now that the priests are 
fled in all quarters, and their houses and lands are given to our 
grandees, they cannot see that we are working the work of refor- 
mation in destroying the palaces of zealous Protestants.” 

“But I tell you St. Mary’s is not destroyed ! ” said Woodcock 
in increasing agitation. “ Some trash of painted windows there were 
broken, — things that no nobleman could have brooked in his 
house ; some stone saints were brought on their marrow-bones, like 
old Widdrington at Chevy Chase ; 3 but as for fire-raising, there 
was not so much as a lighted lunt 4 amongst us, save the match 
which the dragon had to light the burning tow withal, which he 
was to spit against St. George ; nay, I had caution of that.” 

“ How ! Adam Woodcock,” said his comrade, “ I trust thou 
hadst no hand in such a fair work? Look you, Adam. I were 

1 Title given "to those nobles who signed the Covenant of Dec. 3, 1557, 
for liberty of worship in Scotland. 

2 A term of endearment. 

3 The fierce battle between the Earl Percy, who had vowed to hunt three 

days among the Cheviot Hills, and Earl Douglas, the Warden of the Scottish 
Border. In the Ballad of Chevy Chase it is told that Widdrington, an Eng- 
lish squire, fought on the stumps of his legs when his lower limbs were shot 
away. 4 A match. 


2 I 8 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


loath to terrify you, and you just come from a journey ; but I 
promise you, Earl Morton hath brought you down a Maiden 
from Halifax, — you never saw the like of her, — and she’ll clasp 
you round the neck, and your head will remain in her arms.” 

“ Pshaw ! ” answered Adam, “ I am too old to have my head 
turned by any maiden of them all. I know my Lord of Morton 
will go as far for a buxom lass as any one ; but what the devil 
took him to Halifax all the way? and if he has got a gamester 
there, what hath she to do with my head ? ” 

“ Much, much ! ” answered Michael. “ Herod’s daughter , 1 
who did such execution with her foot and ankle, danced not 
men’s heads off more cleanly than this Maiden of Morton . 2 ’Tis 
an ax, man, — an ax which falls of itself like a sash window, and 
never gives the headsman the trouble to wield it.” 

“ By my faith, a shrewd device,” said Woodcock ; “ Heaven 
keep us free on’t ! ” 

The page, seeing no end to the conversation betwixt these two 
old comrades, and anxious, from what he had heard, concerning 
the fate of the Abbot, now interrupted their conference. 

“ Methinks,” he said, “ Adam Woodcock, thou hadst better 
deliver thy master’s letter to the Regent ; questionless he hath 
therein stated what has chanced at Kennaquhair, in the way 
most advantageous for all concerned.” 

“ The boy is right,” said Michael Wing-the-wind, “ my lord 
will be very impatient.” 

“The child hath wit enough to keep himself warm,” said 
Adam Woodcock, producing from his hawking-bag his lord’s 
letter, addressed to the Earl of Murray, “ and for that matter, 
so have I. So, Master Roland, you will e’en please to present 
this yourself to the Lord Regent ; his presence will be better 
graced by a young page than by an old falconer.” 

• 

1 An error for Salome, the daughter of Herodias, who was granted the 
head of John the Baptist for dancing before Herod (see Mark vi. 17-28). 

2 A species of guillotine brought to Edinburgh by the Earl of Morton, by 
which he himself was beheaded in 1582. 


THE ABBOT. 


219 


“Well said, canny Yorkshire !” replied his friend; “and but 
now you were so earnest to see our good lord! Why, wouldst 
thou put the lad into the noose that thou mayest slip tether thy- 
self? or dost thou think the Maiden will clasp his fair young 
neck more willingly than thy old sunburnt weasand ? ” 1 

“ Go to,” answered the falconer ; “ thy wit towers high an it 
could strike the quarry. I tell thee, the youth has naught to 
fear ; he had nothing to do with the gambol — a rare gambol it 
was, Michael, as madcaps ever played, and I had made as rare a 
ballad, if we had had the luck to get it sung to an end. But 
mum for that ; face, as I said before, is Latin for a candle. 
Carry the youth to the Presence, and I will remain here, with 
bridle in hand, ready to strike the spurs up to the rowel heads, 
in case the hawk flies my way. I will soon put Soltraedge , 2 I 
trow, betwixt the Regent and me, if he means me less than fair 
play.” 

“ Come on then, my lad,” said Michael, “ since thou must 
needs take the spring before canny Yorkshire.” So saying, 
he led the way through winding passages, closely followed by 
Roland Graeme, until they arrived at a large, winding, stone stair, 
the steps of which were so long and broad, and at the same time 
so low, as to render the ascent uncommonly easy. When they 
had ascended about the height of one story, the guide stepped 
aside, and pushed open the door of a dark and gloomy ante- 
chamber ; so dark, indeed, that his youthful companion stumbled, 
and nearly fell down upon a low step, which was awkwardly 
placed on the very threshold. 

“ Take heed,” said Michael Wing-the-wind in a very low tone 
of voice, and first glancing cautiously round to see if any one 
listened, “take heed, my young friend, for those who fall on 
these boards seldom rise again. Seest thou that ? ” he added in 

1 Windpipe. 

2 Or Soutra-edge. The village of Soutra, on the northwest verge of Had- 
dingtonshire, was endowed with the privilege of sanctuary, or refuge from the 
pursuit of private enmity. 


220 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


a still lower voice, pointing to some dark crimson stains on the 
floor, on which a ray of light, shot through a small aperture, and 
traversing the general gloom of the apartment, fell with mottled 
radiance. “ Seest thou that, youth? Walk warily, for men have 
fallen here before you.” 

“ What mean you? ” said the page, his flesh creeping, though 
he scarce knew why. “ Is it blood ? ” 

“Ay, ay,” said the domestic in the same whispering tone, 
and dragging the youth on by the arm, “ blood it is ; but this is 
no time to question, or even to look at it. Blood it is, foully 
and fearfully shed, as foully and fearfully avenged. The blood,” 
he added in a still more cautious tone, “ of Seignior David.” 

Roland Graeme’s heart throbbed when he found himself so 
unexpectedly in the scene of Rizzio’s slaughter, a catastrophe 
which had chilled with horror all even in that rude age, which 
had been the theme of wonder and pity through every cottage 
and castle in Scotland, and had not escaped that of Avenel. 
But his guide hurried him forward, permitting no farther ques- 
tion, and with the manner of one who has already tampered too 
much with a dangerous subject. A tap which he made at a 
low door at one end of the vestibule was answered by a huissier , 
or usher, who, opening it cautiously, received Michael’s intima- 
tion that a page waited the Regent’s leisure, who brought letters 
from the Knight of Avenel. 

“ The Council is breaking up,” said the usher ; “ but give me the 
packet ; his Grace the Regent will presently see the messenger.” 

“ The packet,” replied the page, “ must be delivered into the 
Regent’s own hands ; such were the orders of my master.” 

The usher looked at him from head to foot, as if surprised at 
his boldness, and then replied with some asperity, “ Say you so, 
my young master ? Thou crowest loudly to be but a chicken, 
and from a country barnyard, too.” 

“ Were it a time or place,” said Roland, “ thou shouldst see I 
can do more than crow ; but do your duty, and let the Regent 
know I wait his pleasure.” 


221 


7 

THE ABBOT. 

“ Thou art but a pert knave, to tell me of my duty,” said the 
courtier in office ; “ but I will find a time to show you you are 
out of yours ; meanwhile, wait there till you are wanted.” So 
saying, he shut the door in Roland’s face. 

Michael Wing-the-wind, who had shrunk from his youthful 
companion during this altercation, according to the established 
maxim of courtiers of all ranks and in all ages, now transgressed 
their prudential line of conduct so far as to come up to him once 
more. “ Thou art a hopeful young springald,” said he, “ and I 
see right well old Yorkshire had reason in his caution. Thou 
hast been five minutes in the court, and hast employed thy time 
so well, as to make a powerful and a mortal enemy out of the 
usher of the council chamber. Why, man, you might almost as 
well have offended the deputy butler.” 

“ I care not what he is,” said Roland Graeme. “ I will teach 
whomever I speak with to speak civilly to me in return. I did 
not come from Avenel to be browbeaten in Holyrood.” 

“ Bravo, my lad ! ” said Michael. “ It is a fine spirit if you 
can but hold it — but see, the door opens.” 

The usher appeared, and, in a more civil tone of voice and 
manner, said that his Grace the Regent would receive the 
Knight of Avenel’s message ; and accordingly marshaled Roland 
Graeme the way into the apartment, from which the Council had 
been just dismissed, after finishing their consultations. There 
was in the room a long oaken table, surrounded by stools of the 
same wood, with a large elbowchair, covered with crimson vel- 
vet, at the head. Writing materials and papers were lying there 
in apparent disorder ; and one or two of the privy councilors 1 
who had lingered behind, assuming their cloaks, bonnets, and 
swords, and bidding farewell to the Regent, were departing 
slowly by a large door, on the opposite side to that through which 
the page entered. Apparently the Earl of Murray had made 
some jest, for the smiling countenances of the statesmen expressed 


1 Members of a ruler’s privy, or private, council of state. 


222 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


that sort of cordial reception which is paid by courtiers to the 
condescending pleasantries of a prince. 

The Regent himself was laughing heartily as he said, “Fare- 
well, my lords, and hold me remembered 1 to the Cock of the 
North .” 2 

He then turned slowly round towards Roland Graeme, and the 
marks of gayety, real or assumed, disappeared from his counte- 
nance as completely as the passing bubbles leave the dark mirror 
of a still, profound lake into which a traveler has cast a stone ; 
in the course of a minute his noble features had assumed their 
natural expression of deep, and even melancholy, gravity. 

This distinguished statesman — for as such his worst enemies 
acknowledged him — possessed all the external dignity, as well 
as almost all the noble qualities, which could grace the power 
that he enjoyed ; and had he succeeded to the throne as his 
legitimate inheritance, it is probable he would have been re- 
corded as one of Scotland’s wisest and greatest kings. But that 
he held his authority by the deposition and imprisonment of his 
sister and benefactress, was a crime which those only can excuse 
who think ambition an apology for ingratitude. He was dressed 
plainly in black velvet, after the Flemish fashion, and wore in 
his high-crowned hat a jeweled clasp, which looped it up on one 
side, and formed the only ornament of his apparel. He had his 
poniard by his side, and his sword lay on the council table. 

Such was the personage before whom Roland Graeme now pre- 
sented himself, with a feeling of breathless awe very different from 
the usual boldness and vivacity of his temper. In fact, he was, 
from education and nature, forward but not impudent, and was 
much more easily controlled by the moral superiority, arising 
from the elevated talents and renown of those with whom he 
conversed, than by pretensions founded only on rank or external 

1 “ Hold me remembered,” i.e., remember me. 

2 Probably the Earl of Huntley, just now at peace with the lords. He 
was the son of the Earl of Huntley mentioned in the Introduction, and the 
powerful head of the Roman Catholic party in the north of Scotland 


THE ABBOT. 


223 


show. He might have braved with indifference the presence of 
an earl merely distinguished by his belt and coronet ; but he felt 
overawed in that of the eminent soldier and statesman, the 
wielder of a nation’s power, and the leader of her armies. The 
greatest and wisest are flattered by the deference of youth, so 
graceful and becoming in itself ; and Murray took, with much 
courtesy, the letter from the hands of the abashed and blushing 
page, and answered with complaisance to the imperfect and half- 
muttered greeting which he endeavored to deliver to him on the 
part of Sir Halbert of Avenel. He even paused a moment ere 
he broke the silk with which the letter was secured, to ask the 
page his name, so much he was struck with his very handsome 
features and form. 

“ Roland Graham,” he said, repeating the words after the 
hesitating page. “ What ! of the Grahams of the Lennox ? ” 1 

“No, my lord,” replied Roland; “my parents dwelt in the 
Debatable Land.” 

Murray made no further inquiry, but proceeded to read his 
dispatches, during the perusal of which his brow began to as- 
sume a stern expression of displeasure, as that of one who found 
something which at once surprised and disturbed him. He sat 
down on the nearest seat, frowned till his eyebrows almost met 
together, read the letter twice over, and was then silent for sev- 
eral minutes. At length, raising his head, his eye encountered 
that of the usher, who in vain endeavored to exchange the look 
of eager and curious observation with which he had been perus- 
ing the Regent’s features, for that open and unnoticing expres- 
sion of countenance which, in looking at all, seems as if it saw 
and marked nothing ; a cast of look which may be practiced with 
advantage by all those, of whatever degree, who are admitted to 
witness the familiar and unguarded hours of their superiors. 
Great men are as jealous of their thoughts as the wife of King 
Candaules 2 was of her charms, and will as readily punish those 

1 A noble Scottish family. 

2 King of Lydia, who exposed his wife’s beauty to Gyges. She, in re- 


224 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


who have, however involuntarily, beheld them in mental deshabille 
and exposure. 

“ Leave the apartment, Hyndman,” said the Regent sternly, 
“and carry your observation elsewhere. You are too knowing, 
sir, for your post, which, by special order, is destined for men of 
blunter capacity. So ! now you look more like a fool than you 
did ” (for Hyndman, as may easily be supposed, was not a little 
disconcerted by this rebuke) ; “ keep that confused stare, and it 
may keep your office. Begone, sir ! ” 

The usher departed in dismay, not forgetting to register, 
amongst his other causes of dislike to Roland Graeme, that he 
had been the witness of this disgraceful chiding. When he had 
left the apartment, the Regent again addressed the page. 

“Your name, you say, is Armstrong ? ” 

“No,” replied Roland, “my name is Graeme, so please you; 
Roland Graeme, whose forbears 1 were designated of Heathergill, 
in the Debatable Land.” 

“ Ay, I knew it was a name from the Debatable Land. Hast 
thou any acquaintance in Edinburgh ? ” 

“ My lord,” replied Roland, willing rather to evade his ques- 
tion than to answer it directly, for the prudence of being silent 
with respect to Lord Seyton’s adventure immediately struck him, 
“ I have been in Edinburgh scarce an hour, and that for the first 
time in my life.” 

“ What ! and thou Sir Halbert Glendinning’s page ? ” said 
the Regent. 

“ I was brought up as my Lady’s page,” said the youth, “ and 
left Avenel Castle for the first time in my life — at least since 
my childhood — only three days since.” 

“ My Lady’s page ! ” repeated the Earl of Murray, as if speak- 
ing to himself ; “ it was strange to send his lady’s page on a 
matter of such deep concernment. Morton will say it is of a 
piece with the nomination of his brother to be Abbot ; and yet, 

venge, incited Gyges to assassinate her husband, married the murderer, and 
reigned with him. 1 Ancestors. 


THE ABBOT. 


225 


in some sort, an inexperienced youth will best serve the turn. 
What hast thou been taught, young man, in thy doughty appren- 
ticeship ? ” 

“To hunt, my lord, and to hawk,” said Roland Graeme. 

“To hunt conies , 1 and to hawk at ousels !” 2 said the Regent 
smiling; “for such are the sports of ladies and their followers.” 

Graeme’s cheek reddened deeply as he replied, not without 
some emphasis, “To hunt red deer of the first head , 3 and to strike 
down herons of the highest soar, my lord, which, in Lothain 4 
speech, may be termed, for aught I know, conies and ousels ; 
also I can wield a brand and couch a lance, according to our 
Border meaning ; in inland speech these may be termed water 
flags and bulrushes.” 

“ Thy speech rings like metal,” said the Regent, “ and I par- 
don the sharpness of it for the truth. Thou knowest, then, what 
belongs to the duty of a man-at-arms ? ” 

“ So far as exercise can teach it without real service in the 
field,” answered Roland Graeme ; “ but our Knight permitted 
none of his household to make raids, and I never had the good 
fortune to see a stricken field.” 5 

“The good fortune!” repeated the Regent, smiling somewhat 
sorrowfully. “ Take my word, young man, war is the only game 
from which both parties rise losers.” 

“ Not always, my lord,” answered the page, with his charac- 
teristic audacity, “ if fame speaks truth.” 

“ How, sir ? ” said the Regent, coloring in his turn, and per- 
haps suspecting an indiscreet allusion to the height which he 
himself had attained by the hap of civil war. 

“ Because, my lord,” said Roland Graeme without change of 

1 Rabbits. 2 Blackbirds or thrushes. 

3 “ Of the first head,” i.e., five years old, when the antlers first attain 
their full growth of three tines, or branches. 

4 A district south of the Frith of Forth, including Edinburghshire, which 
is called Mid-Lothian. 

5 “ Stricken field,” i.e., a field in which a battle has been struck, or 
fought. 


226 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


tone, “ he who fights well must have fame in life, or honor in 
death; and so war is a game from which no one can rise a 
loser.” 

The Regent smiled and shook his head, when at that moment 
the door opened, and the Earl of Morton presented himself. 

“ I come somewhat hastily,” he said, “ and I enter unannounced 
because my news are of weight. It is as I said ; Edward Glen- 
dinning is named Abbot, and” — 

“ Hush, my lord ! ” said the Regent, “ I know it, but ” — 

“ And perhaps you knew it before I did, my Lord of Murray,” 
answered Morton, his dark red brow growing darker and redder 
as he spoke. 

“Morton,” said Murray, “suspect me not; touch not mine 
honor. I have to suffer enough from the calumnies of foes ; let 
me not have to contend with the unjust suspicions of my friends. 
We are not alone,” said he, recollecting himself, “ or I could tell 
you more.” 

He led Morton into one of the deep embrasures which the 
windows formed in the massive wall, and which afforded a retir- 
ing place for their conversing apart. In this recess, Roland ob- 
served them speak together with much earnestness, Murray ap- 
pearing to be grave and earnest, and Morton having a jealous 
and offended air, which seemed gradually to give way to the 
assurances of the Regent. 

As their conversation grew more earnest, they became gradu- 
ally louder in speech, having perhaps forgotten the presence 
of the page, the more readily as his position in the apartment 
placed him out of sight, so that he found himself unwillingly 
privy to more of their discourse than he cared to hear. For, 
page though he was, a mean curiosity after the secrets of others 
had never been numbered amongst Roland’s failings ; and, more- 
over, with all his natural rashness, he could not but doubt the 
safety of becoming privy to the secret discourse of these powerful 
and dreaded men. Still he could neither stop his ears, nor with 
propriety leave the apartment ; and while he thought of some 


THE ABBOT. 


227 


means of signifying his presence, he had already heard so much, 
that, to have produced himself suddenly would have been as 
awkward, and perhaps as dangerous, as in quiet to abide the 
end of their conference. What he overheard, however, was but 
an imperfect part of their communication ; and although an ex- 
pert politician, acquainted with the circumstances of the times, 
would have had little difficulty in tracing the meaning, yet Roland 
Grseme could only form very general and vague conjectures as 
to the import of their discourse. 

“ All is prepared,” said Murray, “ and Lindesay is setting for- 
ward. She must hesitate no longer — thou seest I act by thy 
counsel, and harden myself against softer considerations.” 

“ True, my lord,” replied Morton, “ in what is necessary to 
gain power, you do not hesitate, but go boldly to the mark. But 
are you as careful to defend and preserve what you have won ? 
Why this establishment of domestics around her? Has not your 
sister men and maidens enough to tend her, but you must con- 
sent to this superfluous and dangerous retinue ? ” 

“For shame, Morton ! a princess, and my sister, could I do 
less than allow her due tendance ? ” 

“Ay,” replied Morton, “even thus fly all your shafts, smartly 
enough loosened from the bow, and not unskillfully aimed, but 
a breath of foolish affection ever crosses in the mid volley, and 
sways the arrow from the mark.” 

“ Say not so, Morton,” replied Murray, “ I have both dared 
and done ” — 

“Yes, enough to gain, but not enough to keep — reckon not 
that she will think and act thus — you have wounded her deeply, 
both in pride and in power — it signifies naught, that you would 
tent 1 now the wound with unavailing salves — as matters stand 
with you, you must forfeit the title of an affectionate brother, to 
hold that of a bold and determined statesman.” 

“ Morton ! ” said Murray with some impatience, “ I brook not 
these taunts. What I have done I have done — what I must 
1 To probe a wound ; also, to keep it open for treatment. 


228 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


farther do, I must and will ; but I am not made of iron like 
thee, and I cannot but remember — Enough of this; my pur- 
pose holds.” 

“ And I warrant me,” said Morton, “ the choice of these do- 
mestic consolations will rest with ” — 

Here he whispered names which escaped Roland Graeme’s ear. 
Murray replied in a similar tone, but so much raised towards the con- 
clusion of the sentence, that the page heard these words — “ And 
of him I hold myself secure, by Glendinning’s recommendation.” 

“ Ay, which may be as much trustworthy as his late conduct 
at the Abbey of St. Mary’s — you have heard that his brother’s 
election has taken place. Your favorite, Sir Halbert, my Lord 
of Murray, has as much fraternal affection as yourself.” 

“By Heaven, Morton, that taunt demanded an unfriendly an- 
swer, but I pardon it, for your brother also is concerned ; but 
this election shall be annulled. I tell you, Earl of Morton, while 
I hold the sword of state in my royal nephew’s name, neither 
lord nor knight in Scotland shall dispute my authority ; and if 
I bear with insults from my friends, it is only while I know them 
to be such, and forgive their follies for their faithfulness.” 

Morton muttered what seemed to be some excuse, and the 
Regent answered him in a milder tone, and then subjoined, 
“ Besides, I have another pledge than Glendinning’s recommen- 
dation, for this youth’s fidelity ; his nearest relative has placed 
herself in my hands as his security, to be dealt withal as his do- 
ings shall deserve.” 

“ That is something,” replied Morton ; “ but yet in fair love 
and good will, I must still pray you to keep on your guard. The 
foes are stirring again, as horseflies and hornets become busy so 
soon as the storm blast is over. George of Seyton was crossing 
the causeway this morning with a score of men at his back, and 
had a ruffle with my friends of the House of Leslie. They met 
at the Tron, 1 and were fighting hard, when the provost, with his 

1 In ancient times, the public beam for weighing merchandise, on the 
High Street. 


THE ABBOT. 229 

guard of partisans, came in thirdsman, and staved them asunder 
with their halberds, as men part dog and bear.” 

“ He hath my order for such interference,” said the Regent. 
“ Has any one been hurt ? ” 

“ George of Seyton himself, by black Ralph Leslie, — the devil 
take the rapier that ran not through from side to side ! Ralph 
has a bloody coxcomb, by a blow from a messan page whom 
nobody knew. Dick Seyton of Windygowl is run through the 
arm, and two gallants of the Leslies have suffered phlebotomy . 1 
This is all the gentle blood which has been spilled in the revel ; 
but a yeoman or two on both sides have had bones broken and 
ears chopped. The ostlere-wives , 2 who are like to be the only 
losers by their miscarriage, have dragged the knaves off the 
street, and are crying a drunken coronach 3 over them.” 

“You take it lightly, Douglas,” said the Regent; “these 
broils and feuds would shame the capital of the great Turk , 4 
let alone that of a Christian and reformed state. But, if I live, 
this gear 5 shall be amended ; and men shall say, when they read 
my story, that if it were my cruel hap to rise to power by the 
dethronement of a sister, I employed it, when gained, for the 
benefit of the commonweal.” 

“And of your friends,” replied Morton; “wherefore I trust 
for your instant order annulling the election of this lurdane 
Abbot, Edward Glendinning.” 

“ You shall be presently satisfied,” said the Regent ; and step- 
ping forward, he began to call, “So ho, Hyndman!” when sud- 
denly his eye lighted on Roland Graeme. “ By my faith, Doug- 
las,” said he, turning to his friend, “here have been three at 
counsel ! ” 

“ Ay, but only two can keep counsel,” said Morton ; “ the 
galliard 6 must be disposed of.” 

“For shame, Morton — an orphan boy ! — Hearken thee, my 

1 Bloodletting. 4 Sultan of the Turks. 

2 Innkeepers’ wives. 5 Business ; custom. 

2 Lamentation for the dead. 6 Here, a gay, lively fellow. 


230 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


child. Thou hast told me some of thy accomplishments ; canst 
thou speak truth ? ” 

“ Ay, my lord, when it serves my turn,” replied Graeme. 

“ It shall serve thy turn now,” said the Regent ; “ and false- 
hood shall be thy destruction. How much hast thou heard or 
understood of what we two have spoken together ? ” 

“ But little, my lord,” replied Roland Graeme boldly, “ which 
met my apprehension, saving that it seemed to me as if in some- 
thing you doubted the faith of the Knight of Avenel, under 
whose roof I was nurtured.” 

“And what hast thou to say on that point, young man?” 
continued the Regent, bending his eyes upon him with a keen 
and strong expression of observation. 

“ That,” said the page, “ depends on the quality of those who 
speak against his honor whose bread I have long eaten. If they 
be my inferiors, I say they lie, and will maintain what I say with 
my baton ; if my equals, still I say they lie, and will do battle in 
the quarrel, if they list, with my sword ; if my superiors ” — he 
paused. 

“ Proceed boldly,” said the Regent ; “ what if thy superiors 
said aught that nearly touched your master’s honor ? ” 

“ I would say,” replied Graeme, “ that he did ill to slander the 
absent, and that my master was a man who could render an 
account of his actions to any one who should manfully demand 
it of him to his face.” 

“ And it were manfully said,” replied the Regent. “ What 
thinkest thou, my Lord of Morton ? ” 

“ I think,” replied Morton, “that if the young galliard resem- 
ble a certain ancient friend of ours as much in the craft of his 
disposition as he does in eye and in brow, there may be a wide 
difference betwixt what he means and what he speaks.” 

“ And whom meanest thou that he resembles so closely ? ” 
said Murray. 

“ Even the true and trusty Julian Avenel,” 1 replied Morton. 

1 Uncle of Mary Avenel (see Introduction). 


THE ABBOT. 


231 


“ But this youth belongs to the Debatable Land,” said Murray. 

“ It may be so ; but Julian was an outlying striker of venison , 1 
and made many a far cast 2 when he had a fair doe in chase.” 

“ Pshaw ! ” said the Regent, “ this is but idle talk. Here, 
thou Hyndman — thou curiosity,” calling to the usher, who now 
entered, “ conduct this youth to his companion. — You will both,” 
he said to Graeme, “keep yourselves in readiness to travel on 
short notice.” And then motioning to him courteously to with- 
draw, he broke up the interview. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


HE usher, with gravity which ill concealed a jealous scowl, 



-L conducted Roland Graeme to a lower apartment, where he 
found his comrade the falconer. The man of office then briefly 
acquainted them that this would be their residence till his Grace’s 
farther orders ; that they were to go to the pantry, to the but- 
tery, to the cellar, and to the kitchen, at the usual hours, to re- 
ceive the allowances becoming their station ; instructions which 
Adam Woodcock’s old familiarity with the court made him per- 
fectly understand. “ For your beds,” he said, “you must go to 
the hostelry of St. Michael’s, in respect 3 the palace is now full of 
the domestics of the greater nobles.” 

No sooner was the usher’s back turned than Adam exclaimed, 
with all the glee of eager curiosity, * And now, Master Roland, 
the news — the news — come, unbutton thy pouch, and give us 
thy tidings. What says the Regent ? asks he for Adam Wood- 
cock ? and is all soldered up, or must the Abbot of Unreason 
strap for it ?” 4 

1 “ Striker of venison,” i.e., hunter. 

2 To make a cast is to search for the scent of game. 

3 “ In respect,” i.e., for. 4 “ Strap for it,” i.e., be hanged for it. 


232 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“All is well in that quarter,” said the page; “and for the 
rest — But, heyday, what ! have you taken the chain and medal 
off from my bonnet ? ” 

“ And meet time it was, when yon usher, vinegar-faced rogue 
that he is, began to inquire what Popish trangam 1 you were 
wearing. By the mass, the metal would have been confiscated 
for conscience’ sake, like your other rattletrap yonder at Avenel, 
which Mistress Lilias bears about on her shoes in the guise of 
a pair of shoe buckles. This comes of carrying Popish nick- 
nackets about you.” 

“ The jade ! ” exclaimed Roland Graeme, “ has she melted 
down my rosary into buckles for her clumsy hoofs, which will 
set off such a garnish nearly as well as a cow’s might ? But, 
hang her, let her- keep them; many a dog’s trick have I played 
old Lilias, for want of having something better to do, and the 
buckles will serve for a remembrance. Do you remember the 
verjuice 2 I put into the comfits, when old Wingate and she 
were to breakfast together on Easter morning ? ” 

“ In troth do I, Master Roland ; the major-domo’s mouth was 
as crooked as a hawk’s beak for the whole morning afterwards, 
and any other page in your room would have tasted the disci- 
pline of the porter’s lodge for it. But my Lady’s favor stood 
between your skin and many a jerking ; 3 Lord send you may 
be the better for her protection in such matters ! ” 

“ I am at least grateful for it, Adam ; and I am glad you put 
me in mind of it.” 

“Well, but the news, my young master,” said Woodcock, 
“ spell me the tidings. What are we to fly at next ? What did 
the Regent say to you ? ” 

“ Nothing that I am to repeat again,” said Roland Graeme, 
shaking his head. 

“ Why, heyday,” said Adam, “ how prudent we are become all 
of a sudden ! You have advanced rarely in brief space, Master 
Roland. You have well-nigh had your head broken, and you 
1 Trumpery ; a trifle. 2 Vinegar. 3 Whipping. 


THE ABBOT. 


2 33 


have gained your gold chain, and you have made an enemy, — 
Master Usher, to wit, with his two legs like hawks’ perches, — and 
you have had audience of the first man in the realm, and bear as 
much mystery in your brow as if you had flown in the court sky 
ever since you were hatched. I believe, in my soul, you would 
run with a piece of the eggshell on your head like the curlews, 
which (I would we were after them again) we used to call 
whaups in the Halidome and its neighborhood. But sit thee 
down, boy ; Adam Woodcock was never the lad to seek to enter 
into forbidden secrets. Sit thee down, and I will go and fetch 
the vivers . 1 I know the butler and the pantler of old.” 

The good-natured falconer set forth upon his errand, busying 
himself about procuring their refreshments ; and, during his ab- 
sence, Roland Grseme abandoned himself to the strange, com- 
plicated, and yet heart-stirring reflections to which the events of 
the morning had given rise. Yesterday he was of neither mark 
nor likelihood, a vagrant boy, the attendant on a relative of 
whose sane judgment he himself had not the highest opinion ; 
but now he had become, he knew not why, or wherefore, or to 
what extent, the custodier , 2 as the Scottish phrase went, of some 
important state secret, in the safe keeping of which the Regent 
himself was concerned. It did not diminish from, but rather 
added to, the interest of a situation so unexpected, that Roland 
himself did not perfectly understand wherein he stood committed 
by the state secrets in which he had unwittingly become partici- 
pator. On the contrary, he felt like one who looks on a romantic 
landscape, of which he sees the features for the first time, and 
then obscured with mist and driving tempest. The imperfect 
glimpse which the eye catches of rocks, trees, and other objects 
around him, adds double dignity to these shrouded mountains 
and darkened abysses, of which the height, depth, and extent 
are left to imagination. 

But mortals, especially at the well-appetized age which precedes 
twenty years, are seldom so much engaged either by real or con- 
1 Food; good cheer. 2 Guardian. 


234 


SIR W. ALTER SCOTT. 


jectural subjects of speculation, but that their earthly wants claim 
their hour of attention. And with many a smile did our hero — 
so the reader may term him if he will — hail the reappearance of 
his friend Adam Woodcock, bearing on one platter a tremendous 
portion of boiled beef, and on another a plentiful allowance of 
greens, or rather what the Scotch call lang-kale. A groom fol- 
lowed with bread, salt, and the other means of setting forth a 
meal ; and when they had both placed on the oaken table what 
they bore in their hands, the falconer observed that since he 
knew the court, it had got harder and harder every day to the 
poor gentlemen and yeoman retainers, but that now it was an 
absolute flaying of a flea for the hide and tallow. Such throng- 
ing to the wicket, and such churlish answers, and such bare beef 
bones, such a shouldering at the buttery hatch and cellarage, and 
naught to be gained beyond small, insufficient, single 1 ale, or at 
best with a single straike 2 of malt to counterbalance a double 
allowance of water. “ By the mass, though, my young friend,” 
said he, while he saw the food disappearing fast under Roland’s 
active exertions, “ it is not so well to lament for former times as 
to take the advantage of the present, else we are like to lose on 
both sides.” 

So saying, Adam Woodcock drew his chair towards the table, 
unsheathed his knife (for every one carried that minister of festive 
distribution for himself), and imitated his young companion’s 
example, who, for the moment, had lost his anxiety for the 
future in the eager satisfaction of an appetite sharpened by youth 
and abstinence. 

In truth, they made, though the materials were sufficiently 
simple, a very respectable meal, at the expense of the royal 
allowance ; and Adam Woodcock, notwithstanding the deliberate 
censure which he had passed on the household beer of the pal- 
ace, had taken the fourth deep draught of the black jack 3 ere 
he remembered him that he had spoken in its dispraise. Fling- 

1 Weak. 2 Measure. 

3 A drinking vessel, usually of leather with a silver rim. 


THE ABBOT. 


235 


ing himself jollily and luxuriously back in an old danske 1 elbow- 
chair, and looking with careless glee towards the page, extend- 
ing at the same time his right leg, and stretching the other easily 
over it, he reminded his companion that he had not yet heard 
the ballad which he had made for the Abbot of Unreason’s revel. 
And accordingly he struck merrily up with 

“ The Pope, that pagan full of pride, 

Has blinded us full lang.” 

Roland Graeme, who felt no great delight, as may be supposed, 
in the falconer’s satire, considering its subject, began to snatch 
up his mantle and fling it around his shoulders, an action which 
instantly interrupted the ditty of Adam Woodcock. 

“ Where the vengeance are you going now,” he said, “ thou 
restless boy ? Thou hast quicksilver in the veins of thee to a 
certainty, and canst no more abide any douce 2 and sensible 
communing than a hoodless hawk would keep perched on my 
wrist ! ” 

“ Why, Adam,” replied the page, “ if you must needs know, I 
am about to take a walk and look at this fair city. One may as 
well be still mewed up in the old castle of the lake, if one is to 
sit the livelong night between four walls, and hearken to old 
ballads.” 

“ It is a new ballad, the Lord help thee ! ” replied Adam, “ and 
that one of the best that ever was matched with a rousing 
chorus.” 

“Be it so,” said the page, “I will hear it another day, when 
the rain is dashing against the windows, and there is neither 
steed stamping, nor spur jingling, nor feather waving in the 
neighborhood to mar my marking it well. But even now I want 
to be in the world, and to look about me.” 

“ But the never a stride shall you go without me,” said the 
falconer, “ until the Regent shall take you whole and sound off 
my hand ; and so, if you will, we may go to the hostelry of St. 

1 Danish. 2 French for sweet ; pleasant. In Scotch, quiet. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


236 

Michael’s, and there you will see company enough, but through 
the casement, mark you me ; for as to rambling through the 
street to seek Seytons and Leslies, and having a dozen holes 
drilled in your new jacket with rapier and poniard, I will yield 
no way to it.” 

“ To the hostelry of St. Michael’s, then, with all my heart,” 
said the page ; and they left the palace accordingly, rendered to 
the sentinels at the gate, who had now taken their posts for the 
evening, a strict account of their names and business, were dis- 
missed through a small wicket of the close-barred portal, and 
soon reached the inn or hostelry of St. Michael, which stood 
in a large courtyard, off the main street, close under the descent 
of the Calton-hill. The place, wide, waste, and uncomfortable, 
resembled rather an Eastern caravansary — where men found 
shelter indeed, but were obliged to supply themselves with every- 
thing else — than one of our modern inns ; 

“Where not one comfort shall to those be lost, 

Who never ask, or never feel, the cost.” 

But still, to the inexperienced eye of Roland Graeme, the 
bustle and confusion of this place of public resort furnished ex- 
citement and amusement. In the large room into which they 
had rather found their own way than been ushered by mine host, 
travelers and natives of the city entered and departed, met and 
greeted, gamed or drank together, forming the strongest con- 
trast to the stern and monotonous order and silence with which 
matters were conducted in the well-ordered household of the 
Knight of Avenel. Altercation of every kind, from brawling 
to jesting, was going on amongst the groups around them, and 
yet the noise and mingled voices seemed to disturb no one, and 
indeed to be noticed by no others than by those who composed 
the group to which the speaker belonged. 

The falconer passed through the apartment to a projecting 
latticed window, which formed a sort of recess from the room 
itself ; and having here ensconced himself and his companion, 


THE ABBOT. 


237 


he called for some refreshments ; and a tapster, after he had 
shouted for the twentieth time, accommodated him with the 
remains of a cold capon 1 and a neat’s 2 tongue, together with a 
pewter stoup of weak French vin-de-pays . 3 “ Fetch a stoup of 
brandywine, thou knave. — We will be jolly to-night, Master 
Roland,” said he, when he saw himself thus accommodated, 
“and let care come to-morrow.” 

But Roland had eaten too lately to enjoy the good cheer; 
and feeling his curiosity much sharper than his appetite, he 
made it his choice to look out of the lattice, which overhung a 
large yard, surrounded by the stables of the hostelry, and fed 
his eyes on the busy sight beneath, while Adam Woodcock, after 
he had compared his companion to the “ Laird of Macfarlane’s 
geese , 4 who liked their play better than their meat,” disposed of 
his time with the aid of cup and trencher, occasionally humming 
the burden of his birth-strangled ballad, and beating time to it 
with his fingers on the little round table. In this exercise he 
was frequently interrupted by the exclamations of his compan- 
ion, as he saw something new in the yard beneath to attract and 
interest him. 

It was a busy scene, for the number of gentlemen and nobles 
who were now crowded into the city had filled all spare stables 
and places of public reception with their horses and military 
attendants. There were some score of yeomen dressing their 
own or their masters’ horses in the yard, whistling, singing, 
laughing, and upbraiding each other, in a style of wit which the 
good order of Avenel Castle rendered strange to Roland Graeme’s 
ears. Others were busy repairing their own arms, or cleaning 
those of their masters. One fellow, having just bought a bundle 

1 A cock fattened in a peculiar manner. 2 Ox or cow. 

3 Common wine. 

4 Geese that frequented an islet in Loch Lomond, belonging to the Mac- 

farlane family. This remark of James VI., who, having been amused by 
their circlings, found one tough at table, is of course an anachronism when 
attributed to one of his mother’s subjects. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


238 

of twenty spears, was sitting in a corner, employed in painting 
the white staves of the weapons with yellow and vermilion. 
Other lackeys led large staghounds, or wolf dogs, of noble race, 
carefully muzzled to prevent accidents to passengers. All came 
and went, mixed together and separated, under the delighted eye 
of the page, whose imagination had not even conceived a scene 
so gayly diversified with the objects he had most pleasure in be- 
holding, so that he was perpetually breaking the quiet reverie of 
honest Woodcock, and the mental progress which he was making 
in his ditty, by exclaiming, “ Look here, Adam, — look at the 
bonny bay horse! St. Anthony, what a gallant forehand he 
hath got ! — and see the goodly gray, which yonder fellow in 
the frieze jacket is dressing as awkwardly as if he had never 
touched aught but a cow, — I would I were nigh him to teach 
him his trade ! — And lo you, Adam, the gay Milan armor that 
the yeoman is scouring, all steel and silver, like our Knight’s 
prime suit, of which old Wingate makes such account. — And 
see to yonder pretty wench, Adam, who comes tripping through 
them all with her milkpail. I warrant me she has had a long 
walk from the loaning ;* she has a stammel 1 2 waistcoat, like your 
favorite Cicely Sunderland, Master Adam ! ” 

“ By my hood, lad,” answered the falconer, “ it is well for thee 
thou wert brought up where grace grew. Even in the Castle of 
Avenel thou wert a wild-blood enough, but hadst thou been 
nurtured here, within a flight-shot 3 of the Court, thou hadst been 
the veriest crack-hemp 4 of a page that ever wore feather in thy 
bonnet or steel by thy side ; truly, I wish it may end well with 
thee.” 

“ Nay, but leave thy senseless humming and drumming, old 
Adam, and come to the window ere thou hast drenched thy senses 
in the pint pot there. See, here comes a merry minstrel with 
his crowd, and a wench with him, that dances with bells at her 

1 A loan or lane ; a place near a village for milking cows. 

2 Linsey-woolsey ; usually dull red. 

3 The distance to which an arrow flies. 4 One destined to be hanged. 


THE ABBOT. 


2 39 


ankles ; — and see, the yeomen and pages leave their horses and 
the armor they were cleaning, and gather round, as is very 
natural, to hear the music. Come, old Adam, we will thither 
too.” 

“ You shall call me cutt 1 if I do go down,” said Adam ; “ you 
are near as good minstrelsy as the stroller can make, if you had 
but the grace to listen to it.” 

“ But the wench in the stammel waistcoat is stopping too, 
Adam, — by Heaven, they are going to dance ! Frieze-jacket 
wants to dance with stammel-waistcoat, but she is coy and re- 
cusant.” 

Then suddenly changing his tone of levity into one of deep 
interest and surprise, he exclaimed, ‘‘Queen of Heaven! what 
is it that I see ? ” and then remained silent. 

The sage Adam Woodcock, who was in a sort of languid de- 
gree amused with the page’s exclamations, even while he professed 
to despise them, became at length rather desirous to set his 
tongue once more a-going, that he might enjoy the superiority 
afforded by his own intimate familiarity with all the circum- 
stances which excited in his young companion’s mind so much 
wonderment. 

“ Well, then,” he said at last, “ what is it you do see, Master 
Roland, that you have become mute all of a sudden ? ” 

Roland returned no answer. 

“ I say, Master Roland Graeme,” said the falconer, “ it is man- 
ners in my country for a man to speak when he is spoken to.” 

Roland Graeme remained silent. 

“The murrain is in the boy,” said Adam Woodcock; “he has 
stared out his eyes, and talked his tongue to pieces, I think.” 

The falconer hastily drank off his can of wine, and came to 
Roland, who stood like a statue, with his eyes eagerly bent on 
the courtyard, though Adam Woodcock was unable to detect 
amongst the joyous scenes which it exhibited aught that could 
deserve such devoted attention. 

l A horse with its tail cut short. 


240 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ The lad is mazed! ” 1 said the falconer to himself. 

But Roland Grseme had good reasons for his surprise, though 
they were not such as he could communicate to his companion. 

The touch of the old minstrel’s instrument — for he had already 
begun to play — had drawn in several auditors from the street, 
when one entered the gate of the yard whose appearance ex- 
clusively arrested the attention of Roland Graeme. He was of 
his own age, or a good deal younger, and from his dress and 
bearing might be of the same rank and calling, having all the air 
of coxcombry and pretension which accorded with a handsome, 
though slight and low, figure, and an elegant dress, in part hid 
by a large purple cloak. As he entered, he cast a glance up 
towards the windows, and, to his extreme astonishment, under the 
purple velvet bonnet and white feather, Roland recognized the 
features so deeply impressed on his memory, — the bright and 
clustered tresses, the laughing, full blue eyes, the well-formed 
eyebrows, the nose, with the slightest possible inclination to be 
aquiline, the ruby lip, of which an arch and half-suppressed smile 
seemed the habitual expression, — in short, the form and face of 
Catherine Seyton ; in man’s attire, however, and mimicking, as 
it seemed, not unsuccessfully, the bearing of a youthful but for- 
ward page. 

“ St. George and St. Andrew ! ” exclaimed the amazed Roland 
Graeme to himself, “ was there ever such an audacious quean ! 
She seems a little ashamed of her mummery, too, for she holds 
the lap of her cloak to her face, and her color is heightened. 
But Santa Maria! how she threads the throng, with as firm 
and bold a step as if she had never tied petticoat round her 
waist ! Holy saints ! she holds up her riding rod as if she 
would lay it about some of their ears, that stand most in her way. 
By the hand of my father ! she bears herself like the very model 
of pagehood. Hey ! what ! sure she will not strike frieze-jacket 
in earnest ? ” But he was not long left in doubt ; for, upon the 
shoulders of the lout whom he had before repeatedly noticed, 
1 Amazed ; dazed. 


THE ABBOT. 


241 


standing in the way of the bustling page, and maintaining his 
place with clownish obstinacy or stupidity, the advanced riding 
rod was, without a moment’s hesitation, sharply applied in a 
manner which made him spring aside, rubbing the part of the 
body which had received so unceremonious a hint that it was 
in the way of his betters. The party injured growled forth an 
oath or two of indignation, and Roland Graeme began to think 
of flying downstairs to the assistance of the translated Catherine ; 
but the laugh of the yard was against frieze- jacket, which indeed 
had, in those days, small chance of fair play in a quarrel with 
velvet and embroidery ; so that the fellow, who was a menial in 
the inn, slunk back to finish his task of dressing the bonny gray, 
laughed at by all, but most by the wench in the stammel waist- 
coat, his fellow-servant, who, to crown his disgrace, had the 
cruelty to cast an applauding smile upon the author of the in- 
jury, while, with a freedom more like the milkmaid of the town 
than she of the plains, she accosted him with, “Is there any 
one you want here, my pretty gentleman, that you seem in such 
haste ? ” 

“ I seek a sprig of a lad,” said the seeming gallant, “ with a 
sprig of holly in his cap, black hair and black eyes, green jacket, 
and the air of a country coxcomb. I have sought him through 
every close and alley in the Canongate, the fiend gore him ! ” 

“Why, God-a-mercy, Nun!” muttered Roland Graeme, much 
bewildered. 

“ I will inquire him presently out for your fair young worship,” 
said the wench of the inn. 

“ Do,” said the gallant squire, “ and if you bring me to him, 
you shall have a groat to-night, and a kiss on Sunday when you 
have on a cleaner kirtle.” 

“Why, God-a-mercy, Nun!” again muttered Roland, “this is 
a note above E La.” 1 

In a moment after, the servant entered the room, and ushered 
in the object of his surprise. 

1 The name of the highest tone in the system of music introduced in 1204. 

16 


242 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


While the disguised vestal looked with unabashed brow, and 
bold and rapid glance of her eye, through the various parties in 
the large old room, Roland Graeme, who felt an internal awk- 
ward sense of bashful confusion, which he deemed altogether 
unworthy of the bold and dashing character to which he aspired, 
determined not to be browbeaten and put down by this singu- 
lar female, but to meet her with a glance of recognition so sly, 
so penetrating, so expressively humorous, as should show her 
at once he was in possession of her secret and master of her 
fate, and should compel her to humble herself towards him, at 
least into the look and manner of respectful and deprecating 
observance. 

This was extremely well planned ; but just as Roland had 
called up the knowing glance, the suppressed smile, the shrewd, 
intelligent look which was to insure his triumph, he encountered 
the bold, firm, and steady gaze of his brother, or sister, page, who, 
casting on him a falcon glance, and recognizing him at once as 
the object of his search, walked up with the most unconcerned 
look, the most free and undaunted composure, and hailed him 
with, “You, Sir Holly-top, I would speak with you.” 

The steady coolness and assurance with which these words 
were uttered, although the voice was the very voice he had heard 
at the old convent, and although the features more nearly re- 
sembled those of Catherine when seen close than when viewed 
from a distance, produced, nevertheless, such a confusion in 
Roland’s mind, that he became uncertain whether he was not 
still under a mistake from the beginning ; the knowing shrewd- 
ness which should have animated his visage faded into a sheepish 
bashfulness, and the half-suppressed but most intelligible smile 
became the senseless giggle of one who laughs to cover his own 
disorder of ideas. 

“Do they understand a Scotch tongue in thy country, Holly- 
top ? ” said this marvelous specimen of metamorphosis. “ I said 
I would speak with thee.” 

“ What is your business with my comrade, my young chick of 


THE ABBOT. 


243 


the game ? ” 1 said Adam Woodcock, willing to step in to his 
companion’s assistance, though totally at a loss to account for 
the sudden disappearance of all Roland’s usual smartness and 
presence of mind. 

“ Nothing to you, my old cock of the perch,” replied the gal- 
lant ; “ go mind your hawk’s castings. I guess by your bag 
and your gauntlet 2 that you are squire of the body 3 to a sort of 
kites.” 

He laughed as he spoke, and the laugh reminded Roland so 
irresistibly of the hearty fit of risibility in which Catherine had 
indulged at his expense when they first met in the old nunnery, 
that he could scarce help exclaiming, “ Catherine Seyton, by 
Heavens ! ” He checked the exclamation, however, and only 
said, “ I think, sir, we two are not totally strangers to each other.” 

“ We must have met in our dreams, then,” said the youth ; 
“ and my days are too busy to remember what I think on at 
nights.” 

“ Or apparently to remember upon one day those whom you 
may have seen on the preceding eve,” said Roland Graeme. 

The youth in his turn cast on him a look of some surprise, as 
he replied, “ I know no more of what you mean than does the 
horse I ride on. If there be offense in your words, you shall 
find me as ready to take it as any lad in Lothian.” 

“ You know well,” said Roland, “ though it pleases you to use 
the language of a stranger, that with you I have no purpose to 
quarrel.” 

“ Let me do mine errand, then, and be rid of you,” said the 
page. “ Step hither this way, out of that old leathern fist’s 
hearing.” 

They walked into the recess of the window, which Roland had 
left upon the youth’s entrance into the apartment. The messen- 

1 “ Chick of the game,” i.e., a young gamecock. 

2 In falconry, a long leathern glove was worn upon the arm on which the 
hawk perched, to protect it from his talons. 

3 “ Squire of the body,” i.e., a personal attendant on a knight. 


244 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


ger then turned his back on the company, after casting a hasty 
and sharp glance around to see if they were observed. Roland 
did the same, and the page in the purple mantle thus addressed 
him, taking at the same time from under his cloak a short but 
beautifully wrought sword, with the hilt and ornaments upon 
the sheath of silver, massively chased and overgilded. “ I bring 
you this weapon from a friend, who gives it you under the 
solemn condition that you will not unsheathe it until you are com- 
manded by your rightful Sovereign. For your warmth of temper 
is known, and the presumption with which you intrude yourself 
into the quarrels of others ; and, therefore, this is laid upon you 
as a penance by those who wish you well, and whose hand will 
influence your destiny for good or for evil. This is what I was 
charged to tell you. So if you will give a fair word for a fair sword, 
and pledge your promise, with hand and glove, good and well ; 
and if not, I will carry back Caliburn 1 to those who sent it.” 

“ And may I not ask who these are ? ” said Roland Graeme, 
admiring at the same time the beauty of the weapon thus offered 
him. 

“ My commission in no way leads me to answer such a ques- 
tion,” said he of the purple mantle. 

“But if I am offended,” said Roland, “may I not draw to 
defend myself ? ” 

“Not this weapon,” answered the swordbearer; “but you 
have your own at command ; and, besides, for what do you wear 
your poniard ? ” 

“ For no good,” said Adam Woodcock, who had now ap- 


l Caliburn or Excalibur, the sword of King Arthur, the Celtic hero of 
Welsh and British legends, who is said to have defended his realm against 
the Saxons until his death, about A.D. 542. He received the sword from a 
hand clothed in white samite, out of the middle of a lake. When he was 
mortally wounded, this sword, thrown into the lake, summoned the myste- 
rious ladies who bore him to the isle of Avalon, whence, according to tradi- 
tion, he will return after the sleep of ages (see Malory’s Morte d’ Arthur and 
Tennyson’s Idylls of the King). 


THE ABBOT. 


245 


proached close to them, “ and that I can witness as well as any 
one.” 

“Stand back, fellow,” said the messenger; “thou hast an in- 
trusive, curious face, that will come by a buffet if it is found 
where it has no concern.” 

“A buffet, my young Master Malapert? ” said Adam, drawing 
back, however ; “ best keep down fist, or, by Our Lady, buffet 
will beget buffet ! ” 

“ Be patient, Adam Woodcock,” said Roland Graeme, — “and 
let me pray you, fair sir, — since by such addition you choose for 
the present to be addressed, — may I not barely unsheathe this 
fair weapon, in pure simplicity of desire to know whether so fair 
a hilt and scabbard are matched with a befitting blade ? ” 

“ By no manner of means,” said the messenger ; “ at a word, 
you must take it under the promise that you never draw it until 
you receive the commands of your lawful Sovereign, or you must 
leave it alone.” 

“ Under that condition, and coming from your friendly hand, 
I accept of the sword,” said Roland, taking it from his hand ; 
“ but credit me, that if we are to work together in any weighty 
emprise, as I am induced to believe, some confidence and open- 
ness on your part will be necessary to give the right impulse to 
my zeal. I press for no more at present ; it is enough thkt you 
understand me.” 

“ I understand you! ” said the page, exhibiting the appearance 
of unfeigned surprise in his turn. “ Renounce 1 me if I do ! 
Here you stand jiggeting and sniggling , 2 and looking cunning, 
as if there were some mighty matter of intrigue and common 
understanding betwixt you and me, whom you never set your 
eyes on before ! ” 

“ What ? ” said Roland Gneme, “ will you deny that we have 
met before ? ” 

“ Marry that I will, in any Christian court,” said the other page. 

1 May God renounce. 

2 “ Jiggeting and sniggling,” i.e., moving affectedly and snickering. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


246 

“ And will you also deny,” said Roland, “ that it was recom- 
mended to us to study each other’s features well, that in what- 
ever disguise the time might impose upon us, each should recog- 
nize in the other the secret agent of a mighty work ? Do not 
you remember, that Sister Magdalen and Dame Bridget” — 

The messenger here interrupted him, shrugging up his shoul- 
ders, with a look of compassion. “ Bridget and Magdalen ! why, 
this is madness and dreaming ! Hark ye, Maste. Holly-top, 
your wits are gone on woolgathering; comfort yourself with a 
caudle , 1 thatch your brain-sick noddle with a woolen nightcap, 
and so God be with you ! ” 

As he concluded this polite parting address, Adam Woodcock, 
who was again seated by the table on which stood the now 
empty can, said to him, “Will you drink a cup, young man, in 
the way of courtesy, now you have done your errand, and listen 
to a good song ? ” and without waiting for an answer, he com- 
menced his ditty, — 

“ The Pope, that pagan full of pride, 

Hath blinded us full lang” — 

It is probable that the good wine had made some innovation 
in the falconer’s brain, otherwise he would have recollected the 
danger of introducing anything like political or polemical pleas- 
antry into a public assemblage, at a time when men’s minds were 
in a state of great irritability. To do him justice, he perceived 
his error, and stopped short so soon as he saw that the word 
“ Pope ” had at once interrupted the separate conversations of 
the various parties which were assembled in the apartment ; and 
that many began to draw themselves up, bridle, look big, and 
prepare to take part in the impending brawl ; while others, more 
decent and cautious persons, hastily paid down their lawing , 2 and 
prepared to leave the place ere bad should come to worse. 

And to worse it was soon likely to come ; for no sooner did 


1 A warm drink for sick persons. 


2 Account or bill. 


THE ABBOT. 


247 


Woodcock’s ditty reach the ear of the stranger page, than, up- 
lifting his riding rod, he exclaimed, “ He who speaks irreverently 
of the Holy Father of the Church in my presence is the cub of a 
heretic wolf-bitch, and I will switch him as I would a mongrel 
cur.” 

“And I will break thy young pate,” said Adam, “if thou 
darest to lift a finger to me.” And then, in defiance of the 
young Drawcansir’s 1 threats, with a stout heart and dauntless 
accent, he again uplifted the stave, — 

“ The Pope, that pagan full of pride, 

Hath blinded” — 

But Adam was able to proceed no farther, being himself un- 
fortunately blinded by a stroke of the impatient youth’s switch 
across his eyes. Enraged at once by the smart and the indignity, 
the falconer started up, and darkling as he was, for his eyes 
watered too fast to permit his seeing anything, he would soon 
have been at close grips with his insolent adversary, had not 
Roland Graeme, contrary to his nature, played for once the pru- 
dent man and the peacemaker, and thrown himself betwixt them, 
imploring Woodcock’s patience. “You know not,” he said, 
“ with whom you have to do. — And thou,” addressing the mes- 
senger, who stood scornfully laughing at Adam’s rage, “ get thee 
gone, whoever thou art ; if thou be’st what I guess thee, thou 
well knowest there are earnest reasons why thou shouldst.” 

“Thou hast hit it right for once, Holly-top,” said the gallant, 
“though I guess you drew your bow at a venture. — Here, host, 
let this yeoman have a pottle of wine to wash the smart out of 
his eyes ; and there is a French crown for him.” So saying, he 
threw the piece of money on the table, and left the apartment 
with a quick yet steady pace, looking firmly at right and left, 
as if to defy interruption, and snapping his fingers at two or 
three respectable burghers, who, declaring it was a shame that 

1 A character in The Rehearsal (see Note 2, p. 154)* A turbulent fellow. 


248 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


any one should be suffered to rant and ruffle in defense of the 
Pope, were laboring to find the hiks of their swords, which had 
got for the present unhappily entangled in the folds of their 
cloaks. But, as the adversary was gone ere any of them had 
reached his weapon, they did not think it necessary to unsheathe 
cold iron, but merely observed to each other, “ This is more than 
masterful violence, to see a poor man stricken in the face just for 
singing a ballad against the woman of Babylon ! 1 If the Pope’s 
champions are to be bangsters 2 in our very changehouses, we 
shall soon have the old shavelings back again.” 

“The provost should look to it,” said another, “and have 
some five or six armed with partisans, to come in upon the first 
whistle, to teach these gallants their lesson. For, look you, 
neighbor Lugleather, it is not for decent householders like our- 
selves to be brawling with the godless grooms and pert pages 
of the nobles, that are bred up to little else save bloodshed and 
blasphemy.” 

“ For all that, neighbor,” said Lugleather, “ I would have 
curried that youngster as properly as ever I curried a lamb’s hide, 
had not the hilt of my bilbo been for the instant beyond my 
grasp ; and before I could turn my girdle, gone was my master ! ” 

“Ay,” said the others, “the Devil go with him, and peace abide 
with us. I give my rede, 3 neighbors, that we pay the lawing, 
and be stepping homeward, like brother and brother; for old 
St. Giles’s is tolling curfew, and the street grows dangerous at 
night.” 

With that the good burghers adjusted their cloaks, and pre- 
pared for their departure, while he that seemed the briskest of 
the three, laying his hand on his Andrea Ferrara, 4 observed that 
they that spoke in praise of the Pope on the Highgate of Edin- 
burgh had best bring the sword of St. Peter to defend them. 

1 “ Woman of Babylon,” i.e., a Scriptural phrase turned by Protestant 
fanatics against the Church of Rome, to denote her corruption. 

2 Violent fellows, who carry all before them. 3 Advice. 

4 A broadsword maker of great repute in the sixteenth century. 


THE ABBOT. 


249 

While the ill humor excited by the insolence of the young 
aristocrat was thus evaporating in empty menace, Roland Graeme 
had to control the far more serious indignation of Adam Wood- 
cock. “ Why, man, it was but a switch across the mazzard ! 1 
blow your nose, dry your eyes, and you will see all the better 
for it.” 

“ By this light, which I cannot see,” said Adam Woodcock, 
“ thou hast been a false friend to me, young man, neither taking 
up my rightful quarrel, nor letting me fight it out myself.” 

“ Fie, for shame, Adam Woodcock,” replied the youth, deter- 
mined to turn the tables on him, and become in turn the coun- 
selor of good order and peaceable demeanor, “ I say, fie, for 
shame ! Alas, that you will speak thus ! Here are you sent 
with me, to prevent my innocent youth getting into snares” — 

“ I wish your innocent youth were cut short with a halter, with 
all my heart,” said Adam, who begaji to see which way the ad- 
monition tended. 

“ And instead of setting before me,” continued Roland, “ an 
example of patience and sobriety becoming the falconer of Sir 
Halbert Glendinning, you quaff me off I know not how many 
flagons of ale, besides a gallon of wine, and a full measure of 
strong waters.” 

“It was but one small pottle,” said poor Adam, whom con- 
sciousness of his own indiscretion now reduced to a merely de- 
fensive warfare. 

“ It was enough to pottle you handsomely, however,” said the 
page; “and then, instead of going to bed to sleep off your 
liquor, must you sit singing your roistering songs about popes 
and pagans, till you have got your eyes almost switched out of 
your head ; and, but for my interference, whom your drunken 
ingratitude, accuses of deserting you, yon galliard would have 
cut your throat, for he was whipping out a whinger as broad as 
my hand, and as sharp as a razor. And these are lessons for an 


A maplewood bowl ; figuratively, the head. 


250 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

inexperienced youth ! Oh, Adam ! out upon you ! out upon 
you!” 

“ Marry, amen, and with all my heart,” said Adam ; “ out upon 
my folly for expecting anything but impertinent raillery from a 
page like thee, that if he saw his father in a scrape, would laugh 
at him instead of lending him aid.” 

“Nay, but I will lend you aid,” said the page, still laughing, 
“ that is, I will lend thee aid to thy chamber, good Adam, where 
thou shalt sleep off wine and ale, ire and indignation, and awake 
the next morning with as much fair wit as nature has blessed 
thee withal. Only one thing I will warn thee, good Adam, that 
henceforth and forever, when thou railest at me for being some- 
what hot at hand, and rather too prompt to out with poniard or 
so, thy admonition shall serve as a prologue to the memorable 
adventure of the switching of St. Michael’s.” 

With such condoling expressions he got the crestfallen fal- 
coner to his bed, and then retired to his own pallet, where it was 
some time ere he could fall asleep. If the messenger whom he 
had seen were really Catherine Seyton, what a masculine virago 
and termagant must she be! and stored with what an inimitable 
command of insolence and assurance ! The brass on her brow 
would furbish the front of twenty pages. “ And I should know,” 
thought Roland, “ what that amounts to. And yet, her features, 
her look, her light gait, her laughing eye, the art with which she 
disposed the mantle to show no more of her limbs than needs 
must be seen, — I am glad she had at least that grace left, — the 
voice, the smile, — it must have been Catherine Seyton, or the 
Devil in her likeness ! One thing is good, I have silenced the 
eternal predications 1 of that ass, Adam Woodcock, who has set 
up for being a preacher and a governor over me, so soon as he 
has left the hawks’ mew behind him.” 

And with this comfortable reflection, joined to the happy in- 
difference which youth hath for the events of the morrow, Roland 
Graeme fell fast asleep. 


1 Preachings. 


THE ABBOT. 


25 1 


CHAPTER XX. 

I N the gray of the next morning’s dawn, there was a loud 
knocking at the gate of the hostelry; and those without, 
proclaiming that they came in the name of the Regent, were in- 
stantly admitted. A moment or two afterwards, Michael Wing- 
the-wind stood by the bedside of our travelers. 

“ Up! up! ” he said, “ there is no slumber where Murray hath 
work ado.” 1 

Both sleepers sprung up, and began to dress themselves. 
“You, old friend,” said Wing-the-wind to Adam Woodcock, 
“ must to horse instantly, with this packet to the Monks of Ken- 
naquhair ; and with this,” delivering them as he spoke, “ to the 
Knight of Avenel.” 

“ As much as commanding the monks to annul their election, 
I’ll warrant me, of an Abbot,” quoth Adam Woodcock, as he 
put the packets into his bag, “ and charging my master to see it 
done. To hawk at one brother with another is less than fair 
play, methinks.” 

“ Fash 2 not thy beard about it, old boy,” said Michael, “ but 
betake thee to the saddle presently ; for if these orders are not 
obeyed, there will be bare walls at the Kirk of St. Mary’s, and 
it may be at the Castle of Avenel to boot ; for I heard my Lord 
of Morton loud with the Regent, and we are at a pass that we 
cannot stand with him anent trifles.” 

“But,” said Adam, “touching the Abbot of Unreason — what 
say they to that outbreak? An they be shrewishly disposed, I 
were better pitch the packets to Satan, and take the other side 
of the Border for my bield.” 3 

“Oh, that was passed over as a jest, since there was little harm 
done. But, hark thee, Adam,” continued his comrade, “ if there 

1 Old infinitive “ at do ” or “ to do.” 

2 Trouble. 3 Shelter or protection. 


252 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


were a dozen vacant abbacies in your road, whether of jest or 
earnest, reason or unreason, draw thou never one of their miters 
over thy brows. The time is not fitting, man ! Besides, our 
Maiden longs to clip the neck of a fat churchman.” 

“ She shall never sheer 1 mine in that capacity,” said the fal- 
coner, while he knotted the kerchief in two or three double folds 
around his sunburnt bull neck, calling out at the same time, 
“ Master Roland, Master Roland, make haste ! we must back to 
perch and mew, and, thank Heaven more than our own wit, with 
our bones whole, and without a stab in the stomach.” 

“ Nay, but,” said Wing-the-wind, “ the page goes not back with 
you; the Regent has other employment for him.” 

“ Saints and sorrows ! ” exclaimed the falconer ; “ Master 
Roland Graeme to remain here, and I to return to Avenel ! 
Why, it cannot be — the child cannot manage himself in this 
wide world without me, and I question if he will stoop to any 
other whistle than mine own ; there are times I myself can hardly 
bring him to my lure.” 

It was at Roland’s tongue’s end to say something concerning 
the occasion they had for using mutually each other’s prudence, 
but the real anxiety which Adam evinced at parting with him 
took away his disposition to such ungracious raillery. The fal- 
coner did not altogether escape, however, for, in turning his 
face towards the lattice, his friend Michael caught a glimpse of 
it, and exclaimed, “ I prithee, Adam Woodcock, what hast thou 
been doing with these eyes of thine? They are swelled to the 
starting from the socket.” 

“ Naught in the world,” said he, after casting a deprecating 
glance at Roland Graeme, “ but the effect of sleeping in this 
d d truckle 2 without a pillow.” 

“Why, Adam Woodcock, thou must be grown strangely 
dainty,” said his old companion ; “ I have known thee sleep all 

1 Shear; cut off. A play upon the double meaning of clip: to embrace 

(old meaning), and to cut, as a fleece. 2 Trundle-bed. 


THE ABBOT. 253 

night with no better pillow than a bush of ling, and start up with 
the sun, as gleg 1 as a falcon ; and now thine eyes resemble ” — 

“ Tush, man, what signifies how mine eyes look now ? ” said 
Adam; “let us but roast a crab apple, pour a pottle of ale 
on it, and bathe our throats withal, thou shalt see a change in 
me.” 

“And thou wilt be in heart to sing thy jolly ballad about the 
Pope,” said his comrade. 

“ Ay, that I will,” replied the falconer, “ that is, when we have 
left this quiet town five miles behind us, if you will take your 
hobby and ride so far on my way.” 

“ Nay, that I may not,” said Michael ; “ I can but stop to par- 
take your morning draught, and see you fairly to horse. I will 
see that they saddle them, and toast the crab for thee, without 
loss of time.” 

During his absence the falconer took the page by the hand. 
“ May I never hood hawk again,” said the good-natured fellow, 
“ if I am not as sorry to part with you as if you were a child of 
mine own, craving pardon for the freedom. I cannot tell what 
makes me love you so much, unless it be for the reason that I 
loved the vicious devil of a brown galloway-nag whom my mas- 
ter the Knight called Satan, till Master Warden changed his 
name to Seyton ; for he said it was overboldness to call a beast 
after the King of Darkness” — 

“And,” said the page, “it w r as overboldness in him, I trow, to 
call a vicious brute after a noble family.” 

“ Well,” proceeded Adam, “ Seyton or Satan, I loved that nag 
over every other horse in the stable. There was no sleeping 
on his back ; he was forever fidgeting, bolting, rearing, biting, 
kicking, and giving you work to do, and maybe the measure of 
your back 2 on the heather to the boot of it all. And I think I 
love you better than any lad in the castle, for the selfsame 
qualities.” 

1 Quick of perception ; nimble. 

2 “ The measure,” etc., i.e., making you fall at full length. 


254 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Thanks, thanks, kind Adam. I regard myself bound to you 
for the good estimation in which you hold me.” 

“ Nay, interrupt me not,” said the falconer ; “ Satan was a good 
nag. But I say, I think I shall call the two eyases after you, 
the one Roland, and the other Graeme ; and while Adam Wood- 
cock lives, be sure you have a friend. Here is to thee, my dear 
son.” 

Roland most heartily returned the grasp of the hand, and 
Woodcock, having taken a deep draught, continued his farewell 
speech : 

“ There are three things I warn you against, Roland, now that 
you are to tread this weary world without my experience to 
assist you. In the first place, never draw dagger on slight oc- 
casion ; every man’s doublet is not so well stuffed as a certain 
abbot’s that you wot of. Secondly, fly not at every pretty girl, 
like a merlin 1 at a thrush ; you will not always win a gold chain 
for your labor. And, by the way, here I return to you your fan- 
farona ; keep it close ; it is weighty, and may benefit you at a 
pinch more ways than one. Thirdly, and to conclude, as our 
worthy preacher says, beware of the pottle-pot ; it has drenched 
the judgment of wiser men than you. I could bring some in- 
stances of it, but I daresay it needeth not ; for if you should 
forget your own mishaps, you will scarce fail to remember mine. 
And so farewell, my dear son.” 

Roland returned his good wishes, and failed not to send his 
humble duty to his kind Lady, charging the falconer, at the 
same time, to express his regret that he should have offended her, 
and his determination so to bear him in the world that she would 
not be ashamed of the generous protection she had afforded 
him. 

The falconer embraced his young friend, mounted his stout, 
round-made, trotting nag, which the serving man, who had at- 
tended him, held ready at the door, and took the road to the south- 
ward. A sullen and heavy sound echoed from the horse’s feet, as 


1 The smallest kind of hawk. 


THE ABBOT 


2 55 


if indicating the sorrow of the good-natured rider. Every hoof 
tread seemed to tap upon Roland’s heart as he heard his com- 
rade withdraw with so little of his usual alert activity, and felt 
that he was once more alone in the world. 

He was roused from his reverie by Michael Wing-the-wind, 
who reminded him that it was necessary they should instantly 
return to the palace, as my Lord Regent went to the Sessions 1 
early in the morning. They went thither accordingly, and 
Wing-the-wind, a favorite old domestic, who was admitted nearer 
to the Regent’s person and privacy than many whose posts were 
more ostensible, soon introduced Graeme into a small matted 
chamber, where he had an audience of the present head of the 
troubled State of Scotland. The Earl of Murray was clad in 
a sad-colored 2 morning gown, with a cap and slippers of the 
same cloth, but, even in this easy deshabille, held his sheathed 
rapier in his hand, a precaution which he adopted when receiving 
strangers, rather in compliance with the earnest remonstrances 
of his friends and partisans, than from any personal apprehen- 
sions of his own. He answered with a silent nod the respectful 
obeisance of the page, and took one or two turns through the 
small apartment in silence, fixing his keen eye on Roland, as if 
he wished to penetrate into his very soul. At length he broke 
silence. 

" Your name is, I think, Julian Graeme ? ” 

“ Roland Graeme, my lord, not Julian,” replied the page. 

“ Right ; I was misled by some trick of my memory. Roland 
Graeme, from the Debatable Land. Roland, thou knowest the 
duties which belong to a lady’s service ? ” 

“ I should know them, my lord,” replied Roland, " having 
been bred so near the person of my Lady of Avenel ; but I trust 
never more to practice them, as the Knight hath promised ” — 

“ Be silent, young man,” said the Regent ; “ I am to speak, and 
you to hear and obey. It is necessary that, for some space at 
least, you shall again enter into the service of a lady, who, in 
1 Meeting of the council or legislature. 2 Somber. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


256 

rank, hath no equal in Scotland ; and this service accomplished, 
I give thee my word as knight and prince, that it shall open to 
you a course of ambition, such as may well gratify the aspiring 
wishes of one whom circumstances entitle to entertain much 
higher views than thou. I will take thee into my household, 
and near to my person, or at your own choice, I will give you 
the command of a foot company ; either is a preferment which 
the proudest laird in the land might be glad to insure for a 
second son.” 

“ May I presume to ask, my lord,” said Roland, observing the 
Earl paused for a reply, “to whom my poor services are in the 
first place destined ? ” 

“ You will be told hereafter,” said the Regent ; and then, as 
if overcoming some internal reluctance to speak farther him- 
self, he added, “ or why should I not myself tell you that you 
are about to enter into the service of a most illustrious, most un- 
happy lady, — into the service of Mary of Scotland.” 

“ Of the Queen, my lord ! ” said the page, unable to repress 
his surprise. 

“ Of her who was the Queen ! ” said Murray, with a singular 
mixture of displeasure and embarrassment in his tone of voice. 
“ You must be aware, young man, that her son reigns in her 
stead.” 

He sighed from an emotion, partly natural, perhaps, and 
partly assumed. 

“ And am I to attend upon her Grace in her place of impris- 
onment, my lord ? ” again demanded the page with a straightfor- 
ward and hardy simplicity which somewhat disconcerted the sage 
and powerful statesman. 

“ She is not imprisoned,” answered Murray angrily, “ God for- 
bid she should — she is only sequestrated from state affairs, and 
from the business of the public, until the world be so effectually 
settled that she may enjoy her natural and uncontrolled freedom, 
without her royal disposition being exposed to the practices of 
wicked and designing men. It is for this purpose,” he added, 


THE ABBOT. 


2 57 


“ that while she is to be furnished, as right is, with such attend- 
ance as may befit her present secluded state, it becomes neces- 
sary that those placed around her are persons on whose pru- 
dence I can have reliance. You see, therefore, you are at once 
called on to discharge an office most honorable in itself, and so 
to discharge it that you may make a friend of the Regent of 
Scotland. Thou art, I have been told, a singularly apprehensive 
youth ; and I perceive by thy look that thou dost already under- 
stand what I would say on this matter. In this schedule your 
particular points of duty are set down at length, but the sum re- 
quired of you is fidelity; I mean fidelity to myself and to the 
State. You are, therefore, to watch every attempt which is 
made, or inclination displayed, to open any communication with 
any of the lords who have become banders 1 in the west ; with 
Hamilton, Seyton, with Fleming, or the like. It is true that my 
gracious sister, reflecting upon the ill chances that have happed 
to the state of this poor kingdom, from evil counselors who have 
abused her royal nature in time past, hath determined to seques- 
trate herself from state affairs in future. But it is our duty, 
as acting for and in the name of our infant nephew, to guard 
against the evils which may arise from any mutation or vacilla- 
tion in her royal resolutions. Wherefore, it will be thy duty to 
watch, and report to our lady mother, whose guest our sister is 
for the present, whatever may infer a disposition to withdraw her 
-person from the place of security in which she is lodged, or to 
open communication with those without. If, however, your ob- 
servation should detect anything of weight, and which may ex- 
ceed mere suspicion, fail not to send notice by an especial 
messenger to me directly, and this ring shall be thy warrant to 
order horse and man on such service. And now, begone. If 
there be half the wit in thy head that there is apprehension in 
thy look, thou fully comprehend est all that I would say. Serve 
me faithfully, and sure as I am belted earl, thy reward shall be 
great.” 

1 Members of a band or confederacy. 

17 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


258 

Roland Graeme made an obeisance, and was about to depart. 

The Earl signed to him to remain. “ I have trusted thee 
deeply,” he said, “ young man, for thou art the only one of her 
suite who has been sent to her by my own recommendation. 
Her gentlewomen are of her own nomination. It were too 
hard to have barred her that privilege, though some there were 
who reckoned it inconsistent with sure policy. Thou art young 
and handsome. Mingle in their follies, and see they cover not 
deeper designs under the appearance of female levity ; if they 
do mine, do thou countermine . 1 For the rest, bear all decorum 
and respect to the person of thy mistress. She is a princess, 
though a most unhappy one, and hath been a queen ! though 
now, alas ! no longer such. Pay, therefore, to her all honor 
and respect consistent with thy fidelity to the King and me. 
And now, farewell. Yet stay, — you travel with Lord Lindesay, 
a man of the old world, rough and honest, though untaught; 
see that thou offend him not, for he is not patient of raillery, 
and thou, I have heard, art a crack-halter.” 2 This he said with 
a smile, then added, “ I could have w r ished the Lord Lindesay’s 
mission had been intrusted to some other and more gentle noble.” 

“ And wherefore should you wish that, my lord ? ” said Morton, 
who even then entered the apartment ; “the Council have decided 
for the best. We have had but too many proofs of this lady’s stub- 
bornness of mind, and the oak that resists the sharp steel ax must 
be riven with the rugged iron wedge. And this is to be her 
page? — My Lord Regent hath doubtless instructed you, young 
man, how you shall guide yourself in these matters; I will add 
but a little hint on my part. You are going to the castle of a 
Douglas, where treachery never thrives. The first moment of 
suspicion will be the last of your life. My kinsman, William 
Douglas, understands no raillery, and if he once have cause to 
think you false, you will waver in the wind from the castle battle- 


1 To dig a mine in order to destroy the mine of an antagonist; hence, to 

secretly frustrate the plans of an opponent. 2 See Note 4, p. 238. 


THE ABBOT. 


2 59 


ments ere the sun set upon his anger. And is the lady to have 
an almoner withal ? ” 

“Occasionally, Douglas,” said the Regent; “it were hard to 
deny the spiritual consolation which she thinks essential to her 
salvation.” 

“ You are ever too soft-hearted, my lord. What ! a false priest 
to communicate her lamentations, not only to our un-friends in 
Scotland, but to the Guises , 1 to Rome, to Spain , 2 and I know not 
where !” 

“ Fear not,” said the Regent, “ we will take such order that no 
treachery shall happen.” 

“ Look to it, then,” said Morton ; “ you know my mind re- 
specting the wench you have consented she shall receive as a 
waiting woman ; one of a family which, of all others, has ever 
been devoted to her, and inimical to us. Had we not been 
wary, she would have been purveyed of a page as much to her 
purpose as her waiting damsel. I hear a rumor that an old mad 
Romish pilgrimer, who passes for at least half a saint among 
them, was employed to find a fit subject.” 

“ We have escaped that danger at least,” said Murray, “ and 
converted it into a point of advantage, by sending this boy of 
Glendinning’s ; and for her waiting damsel, you cannot grudge 
her one poor maiden instead of her four noble Marys 3 and all 
their silken train ? ” 

“ I care not so much for the waiting maiden,” said Morton, 
“ but I cannot brook the almoner. I think priests of all persua- 
sions are much like each other. Here is John Knox, who made 

1 A branch of the intensely Catholic ducal family of Lorraine. The first 
Duke of Guise was created by Francis I. ; his daughter, Mary of Lorraine, 
mother of Mary Queen of Scots, was Regent of Scotland, and died in 1560. 

2 At this time the greatest monarchy of Europe, and governed by the 
fanatical Philip II., the champion of Catholicism wherever it was in danger. 

3 Four young and noble ladies of the same age with Mary Queen of Scots, 
who embarked with her, in 1548, in the French galleys, to be first her play- 
mates and then her companions. 


260 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


such a noble puller-down, is ambitious of becoming a setter-up, 
and a founder of schools and colleges out of the abbey lands, 
and bishops’ rents, and other spoils of Rome, which the nobility 
of Scotland have won with their sword and bow, and with which 
he would endow new hives to sing the old drone.” 1 

“John is a man of God,” said the Regent, “and his scheme 
is a devout imagination.” 

The sedate smile with which this was spoken left it impossible 
to conjecture whether the words were meant in approbation, or 
in derision, of the plan of the Scottish Reformer. Turning then 
to Roland Grseme, as if he thought he had been long enough a 
witness of this conversation, he bade him get him presently to 
horse, since my Lord of Lindesay was already mounted. The 
page made his reverence, and left the apartment. 

Guided by Michael Wing-the-wind, he found his horse ready 
saddled and prepared for the journey in front of the palace 
porch, where hovered about a score of men-at-arms, whose leader 
showed no small symptoms of surly impatience. 

“ Is this the jackanape page for whom we have waited thus 
long ? ” said he to Wing-the-wind. “And my Lord Ruthven will 
reach the castle long before us.” 

Michael assented, and added that the boy had been detained 
by the Regent to receive some parting instructions. The leader 
made an inarticulate sound in his throat, expressive of sullen 
acquiescence, and calling to one of his domestic attendants, 
“ Edward,” said he, “ take the gallant into your charge and let 
him speak with no one else.” 

He then addressed, by the title of Sir Robert, an elderly and 
respectable-looking gentleman, the only one of the party who 
seemed above the rank of a retainer or domestic, and observed 
that they must get to horse with all speed. 

During this discourse, and while they were riding slowly along 
the street of the suburb, Roland had time to examine more 

1 Humdrum song, recalling the laziness of the drone, or male of the honey- 
bee. 


THE ABBOT. 


261 


accurately the looks and figure of the baron, who was at their 
head. 

Lord Lindesay of the Byres 1 was rather touched than stricken 
with years. His upright stature and strong limbs still showed 
him fully equal to all the exertions and fatigues of war. His thick 
eyebrows, now partially grizzled, lowered over large eyes full of 
dark fire, which seemed yet darker from the uncommon depth at 
which they were set in his head. His features, naturally strong 
and harsh, had their sternness exaggerated by one or two scars 
received in battle. These features, naturally calculated to ex- 
press the harsher passions, were shaded by an open steel cap, 
with a projecting front, but having no visor, over the gorget of 
which fell the black and grizzled beard of the grim old baron, 
and totally hid the lower part of his face. The rest of his dress 
was a loose buff coat, which had once been lined with silk and 
adorned with embroidery, but which seemed much stained with 
travel, and damaged with cuts, received probably in battle. It 
covered a corselet, which had once been of polished steel, fairly 
gilded, but was now somewhat injured with rust. A sword of 
antique make and uncommon size, framed to be wielded with 
both hands, a kind of weapon which was then beginning to go 
out of use, hung from his neck in a baldric, and was so disposed 
as to traverse his whole person, the huge hilt appearing over 
his left shoulder, and the point reaching well-nigh to the right 
heel, and jarring against his spur as he walked. This unwieldy 
weapon could only be unsheathed by pulling the handle over the 
left shoulder, for no human arm was long enough to draw it in 
the usual manner. The whole equipment was that of a rude 
warrior, negligent of his exterior even to misanthropical sullen- 
ness ; and the short, harsh, haughty tone which he used towards 
his attendants, belonged to the same unpolished character. 

The personage who rode with Lord Lindesay, at the head of 
the party, was an absolute contrast to him, in manner, form, and 

i A barony in East Lothian which long belonged to the noble family of 
Lindesay. 


262 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


features. His thin and silky hair was already white, though he 
seemed not above forty-five or fifty years old. His tone of 
voice was soft and insinuating, his form thin, spare, and bent by 
an habitual stoop, his pale cheek was expressive of shrewdness 
and intelligence, his eye was quick though placid, and his whole 
demeanor mild and conciliatory. He rode an ambling nag, such 
as were used by ladies, clergymen, or others of peaceful profes- 
sions ; wore a riding habit of black velvet, with a cap and feather 
of the same hue, fastened up by a golden medal ; and for show, 
and as a mark of rank rather than for use, carried a walking 
sword (as the short light rapiers were called), without any other 
arms, offensive or defensive. 

The party had now quitted the town, and proceeded, at a 
steady trot, towards the west. As they prosecuted their journey, 
Roland Graeme would gladly have learned something of its pur- 
pose and tendency, but the countenance of the personage next 
to whom he had been placed in the train discouraged all ap- 
proach to familiarity. The baron himself did not look more grim 
and inaccessible than his feudal retainer, whose grizzly beard 
fell over his mouth like the portcullis before the gate of a castle, 
as if for the purpose of preventing the escape of any word of 
which absolute necessity did not demand the utterance. The 
rest of the train seemed under the same taciturn influence, and 
journeyed on without a word being exchanged amongst them, 
more like a troop of Carthusian friars 1 than a party of military 
retainers. Roland Graeme was surprised at this extremity of 
discipline ; for even in the household of the Knight of Avenel, 
though somewhat distinguished for the accuracy with which de- 
corum was enforced, a journey was a period of license, during 
which jest and song, and everything within the limits of be- 
coming mirth and pastime, were freely permitted. This unusual 

1 An order of monks, founded by St. Bruno in 1086, which aims in its 
discipline at separating the members from all intercourse with the world, and, 
as far as possible, from each other. The members are not allowed to speak 
to each other without permission from the Superior. 


THE ABBOT. 


263 

silence was, however, so far acceptable that it gave him time to 
bring any shadow of judgment which he possessed to council 
on his own situation and prospects, which would have appeared 
to any reasonable person in the highest degree dangerous and 
perplexing. 

It was quite evident that he had, through various circumstances 
not under his own control, formed contradictory connections 
with both the contending factions by whose strife the kingdom 
was distracted, without being properly an adherent of either. It 
seemed also clear that the same situation in the household of the 
deposed Queen, to which he was now promoted by the influence 
of the Regent, had been destined to him by his enthusiastic 
grandmother, Magdalen Graeme ; for on this subject the words 
which Morton had dropped had been a ray of light ; yet it was 
no less clear that these two persons, the one the declared enemy, 
the other the enthusiastic votary of the Catholic religion ; the 
one at the head of the King’s new government, the other, who 
regarded that government as a criminal usurpation,-^ must have 
required and expected very different services from the individual 
whom they had thus united in recommending. It required very 
little reflection to foresee that these contradictory claims on his 
services might speedily place him in a situation where his honor 
as well as his life might be endangered. But it was not in 
Roland Graeme’s nature to anticipate evil before it came, or to 
prepare to combat difficulties before they arrived. “ I will see 
this beautiful and unfortunate Mary Stuart,” said he, “ of whom 
we have heard so much, and then there will be time enough to 
determine whether I will be kingsman or queensman. None of 
them can say I have given word or promise to either of their 
factions ; for they have led me up and down like a blind Billy , 1 
without giving me any light into what I was to do. But it was 
lucky that grim Douglas came into the Regent’s closet this 
morning, otherwise I had never got free of him without plighting 
my troth to do all the Earl would have me, which seemed, after 
1 The blind man in the game of blindman’s buff. 


264 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


all, but foul play to the poor imprisoned lady, to place her page 
as an espial on her.” 

Skipping thus lightly over a matter of such consequence, the 
thoughts of the harebrained boy went a-woolgathering after more 
agreeable topics. Now he admired the Gothic towers of Barn- 
bougie , 1 rising from the sea-beaten rock, and overlooking one of 
the most glorious landscapes in Scotland ; and now he began to 
consider what notable sport for the hounds and the hawks must 
be aiforded by the variegated ground over which they traveled ; 
and now he compared the steady and dull trot at which they 
were then prosecuting their journey, with the delight of sweeping 
over hill and dale in pursuit of his favorite sports. As, under 
the influence of these joyous recollections, he. gave his horse the 
spur, and made him execute a gambade , 2 he instantly incurred 
the censure of his grave neighbor, who hinted to him to keep 
the pace, and move quietly and in order, unless he wished such 
notice to be taken of his eccentric movements as was likely to 
be very displeasing to him. 

The rebuke and the restraint under which the youth now found 
himself, brought back to his recollection his late good-humored 
and accommodating associate and g^ny'o&dam Woodcock ; and 
from that topic his imagination mav, flight to Avenel 

Castle, to the quiet and unconfined life or its inhabitants, the 
goodness of his early protectress, not forgetting the denizens of 
its stables, kennels, and hawk mews. In a brief space, all these 
subjects of meditation gave way to the resemblance of that 
riddle of womankind, Catherine Seyton, who appeared before 
the eye of his mind, now in her female form, now in her male 
attire, now in both at once, like some strange dream, which 
presents to us the same individual under two different characters 
at the same instant. Her mysterious present also recurred to his 
recollection, — the sword which he now wore at his side, and which 
he was not to draw save by command of his legitimate Sover- 

1 An ancient castle in Linlithgowshire on the Frith of Forth. 

2 French, gambade; gambol. 


THE ABBOT. 265 

eign ! But the key of this mystery he judged he was likely to 
find in the issue of his present journey. 

With such thoughts passing through his mind, Roland Graeme 
accompanied the party of Lord Lindesay to the Queen’s Ferry , 1 
which they passed in vessels that lay in readiness for them. 
They encountered no adventure whatever in their passage, ex- 
cepting one horse being lamed in getting into the boat, an ac- 
cident very common on such occasions, until a few years ago, 
when the ferry was completely regulated. What was more 
peculiarly characteristic of the olden age, was the discharge of 
a culverin at the party, from the battlements of the old castle of 
Rosythe, on the north side of the ferry, the lord of which hap- 
pened to have some public or private quarrel with the Lord 
Lindesay, and took this mode of expressing his resentment. The 
insult, however, as it was harmless, remained unnoticed and un- 
avenged, nor did anything else occur worth notice until the 
band had come where Loch Leven 2 spread its magnificent sheet 
of waters to the beams of a bright summer’s sun. 

The ancient castle, which occupies an island nearly in the cen- 
ter of the lake, recalled to the page that of Avenel, in which he 
had been nurtured. ^ * lake was much larger, and adorned 

with several is^without * iat on which the fortress was situated ; 
and insteau' ot being embosomed in hills like that of Avenel, 
had upon the southern side only a splendid mountainous screen, 
being the descent of one of the Lomond Hills , 3 and on the other 
was surrounded by the extensive and fertile plain of Kinross. 
Roland Graeme looked with some degree of dismay on the 
water-girdled fortress, which then, as now, consisted only of one* 
large dungeon keep, surrounded with a courtyard, with two 
round flanking towers at the angles, which contained within its 

1 Nine miles northwest of Edinburgh, across the Frith of Forth, which is 
here two miles broad. 

2 A small lake in the center of Kinross-shire. 

3 Two beautiful conical hills. The Fast Lomond is in. Fifeshire ; West 
Lomond in Kinross-shire, with Lochleven lying at its base. 


266 


SIR IV ALTER SCOTT 


circuit some other buildings of inferior importance. A few old 
trees, clustered together near the castle, gave some relief to the 
air of desolate seclusion ; but yet the page, while he gazed upon 
a building so sequestrated, could not but feel for the situation 
of a captive princess doomed to dwell there, as well as for his 
own. “I must have been born,” he thought, ‘‘under the star 
that presides over ladies and lakes of water, for I cannot by any 
means escape from the service of the one, or from dwelling in 
the other. But if they allow me not the fair freedom of my sport 
and exercise, they shall find it as hard to confine a wild drake, as 
a youth who can swim like one.” 

The band had now reached the edge of the water, and one of 
the party, advancing, displayed Lord Lindesay’s pennon, waving 
it repeatedly to and fro, while that baron himself blew a clamor- 
ous blast on his bugle. A banner was presently displayed from 
the roof of the castle in reply to these signals, and one or two 
figures were seen busied as if unmooring a boat which lay close 
to the islet. 

“ It will be some time ere they can reach us with the boat,” 
said the companion of the Lord Lindesay ; “ should we not do 
well to proceed to the town, and array o\urselves in some better 
order, ere we appear before ” — 

“You may do as you list, Sir Robert,” replied ' Lindesay, “ I 
have neither time nor temper to waste on such vanities. She 
has cost me many a hard ride, and must not now take offense at 
the threadbare cloak and soiled doublet that I am arrayed in. 
It is the livery to which she has brought all Scotland.” 

* “ Do not speak so harshly,” said Sir Robert ; “ if she hath 

done wrong, she hath dearly abied 1 it ; and in losing all real 
power, one would not deprive her of the little external homage 
due at once to a lady and a princess.” 

“ I say to you once more, Sir Robert Melville,” replied Linde- 
say, “do as you will ; for me, I am now too old to dink 2 myself 
as a gallant to grace the bower of dames.” 


THE ABBOT. 


267 

“ The bower of dames, my lord ! ” said Melville, looking at 
the rude old tower. “ Is it yon dark and grated castle, the prison 
of a captive Queen, to which you give so gay a name ? ” 

“ Name it as you list,” replied Lindesay ; “ had the Regent de- 
sired to send an envoy capable to speak to a captive Queen, there 
are many gallants in his court who would have courted the occa- 
sion to make speeches out of ‘ Amadis of Gaul,’ 1 or the ‘ Mirror 
of Knighthood.’ 2 But when he sent blunt old Lindesay, he knew 
he would speak to a misguided woman as her former misdoings 
and her present state render necessary. I sought not this em- 
ployment, it has been thrust upon me ; and I will not cumber 
myself with more form in the discharge of it than needs must be 
tacked to such an occupation.” 

So saying, Lord Lindesay threw himself from horseback, and, 
wrapping his riding cloak around him, lay down at lazy length 
upon the sward, to await the arrival of the boat, which was now 
seen rowing from the castle towards the shore. Sir Robert Mel- 
ville, who had also dismounted, walked at short turns to and 
fro upon the bank, his arms crossed on his breast, often looking 
to the castle, and displaying in his countenance a mixture of 
sorrow and of anxiety. The rest of the party sat like statues 
on horseback, without moving so much as the points of their 
lances, which they held upright in the air. 

As soon as the boat approached a rude quay or landing place, 
near to which they had stationed themselves, Lord Lindesay 


1 The hero of the earliest and best of Spanish chivalric romances written 
later than the fourteenth century, popular through all Europe in the sixteenth 
and seventeenth centuries. It was an imitation of the Anglo-Norman romances 
of the Round Table. Amadis, the son of the King of Gaul, is exposed at 
birth and is brought up by a Scotch knight. He falls in love with Oriana, 
Princess of Denmark, achieves great deeds in her name and for her father, 
and finally carries her off when she is being taken to the Emperor of Rome, 
and marries her (see translation by Robert Southey, 1803, London). 

2 After the history of Charlemagne and the Twelve Peers, this was the 
most popular of the Carlovingian romances ; it treated of Rinaldo de Mont- 
alban. 


268 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


started up from his recumbent posture, and asked the person 
who steered, why he had not brought a larger boat with him to 
transport his retinue. 

“ So please you,” replied the boatman, “ because it is the 
order of our lady that we bring not to the castle more than four 
persons.” 

“ Thy lady is a wise woman,” said Lindesay, “ to suspect me 
of treachery ! Or, had I intended it, what was to hinder us 
from throwing you and your comrades into the lake, and filling 
the boat with my own fellows ? ” 

The steersman, on hearing this, made a hasty signal to his 
men to back their oars, and hold off from the shore which they 
were approaching. 

“ Why, thou ass,” said Lindesay, “ thou didst not think that I 
meant thy fool’s head serious harm ? Hark thee, friend ; with 
fewer than three servants I will go no whither ; Sir Robert Mel- 
ville will require at least the attendance of one domestic ; and it 
will be at your peril and your lady’s to refuse us admission, come 
hither, as we are, on matters of great national concern.” 

The steersman answered with firmness, but with great civility 
of expression, that his orders were positive to bring no more than 
four into the island, but he offered to row back to obtain a revisal 
of his orders. 

“ Do so, my friends,” said Sir Robert Melville, after he had in 
vain endeavored to persuade his stubborn companion to consent 
to a temporary abatement of his train, “row back to the castle, 
sith it will be no better, and obtain thy lady’s orders to transport 
the Lord Lindesay, myself, and our retinue thither.” 

“And hearken,” said Lord Lindesay, “ take with you this page, 
who comes as an attendant on your lady’s guest. — Dismount, 
sirrah,” said he, addressing Roland, “ and embark with them in 
that boat.” 

“ And what is to become of my horse ? ” said Graeme. “ I am 
answerable for him to my master.” 

“ I will relieve you of the charge,” said Lindesay ; “ thou wilt 


THE ABBOT. 


269 


have little enough to do with horse, saddle, or bridle, for ten 
years to come. Thou mayest take the halter an thou wilt ; it 
may stand thee in a turn.” 

“ If I thought so,” said Roland — but he was interrupted by Sir 
Robert Melville, who said to him good-humoredly, “ Dispute it 
not, young friend ; resistance can do no good, but may well run 
thee into danger.” 

Roland Graeme felt the justice of what he said, and, though 
neither delighted with the matter or manner of Lindesay’s ad- 
dress, deemed it best to submit to necessity, and to embark with- 
out farther remonstrance. The men plied their oars. The 
quay, with the party of horse stationed near it, receded from the 
page’s eyes, the castle and the islet seemed to draw near in the 
same proportion, and in a brief space he landed under the shadow 
of a huge old tree which overhung the landing place. The steers- 
man and Graeme leaped ashore ; the boatmen remained lying on 
their oars ready for farther service. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


T the gate of the courtyard of Lochleven appeared the 



ii stately form of the Lady of Lochleven, a female whose early 
charms had captivated James V., by whom she became mother 
of the celebrated Regent Murray. As she was of noble birth 
(being a daughter of the House of Mar 1 ) and of great beauty, 
her intimacy with James did not prevent her being afterwards 
sought in honorable marriage by many gallants of the time, 
among whom she had preferred Sir William Douglas of Loch- 
leven. But well has it been said, — 

1 The great Earldom of Mar, held at this time by the family of Erskine, 
occupied nearly all the northern half of Aberdeenshire. 


270 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Our pleasant vices 
Are made the whips to scourge us .” 1 

The station which the Lady of Lochleven now held as the wife 
of a man of high rank and interest, and the mother of a lawful 
family, did not prevent her nourishing a painful sense of degrada- 
tion, even while she was proud of the talents, the power, and the 
station of her son, now prime ruler of the State, but still a pledge 
of her illicit intercourse. Had James done to her, she said in 
her secret heart, the justice he owed her, she had seen in her 
son, as a source of unmixed delight and of unchastened pride, the 
lawful monarch of Scotland, and one of the ablest who ever 
swayed the scepter. The House of Mar, not inferior in an- 
tiquity or grandeur to that of Drummond , 2 would then have also 
boasted a queen among its daughters, and escaped the stain at- 
tached to female frailty, even when it has a royal lover for its 
apology. While such feelings preyed on a bosom naturally 
proud and severe, they had a corresponding effect on her coun- 
tenance, where, with the remains of great beauty, were mingled 
traits indicative of inward discontent and peevish melancholy. 
It perhaps contributed to increase this habitual temperament, 
that the Lady Lochleven had adopted uncommonly rigid and 
severe views of religion, imitating in her ideas of reformed faith 
the very worst errors of the Catholics, in limiting the benefit of 
the Gospel to those who profess their own speculative tenets. 

In every respect, the unfortunate Queen Mary, now the com- 
pulsory guest, or rather prisoner, of this sullen lady, was obnox- 
ious to her hostess. Lady Lochleven disliked her as the daugh- 
ter of Mary of Guise, the legal possessor of those rights over 
James’s heart and hand of which she conceived herself to have 

1 Shakespeare’s King Lear, act v., sc. 3. Properly, — 

“ The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices 
Make instruments to plague us.” 

2 The beautiful Arabella Drummond was queen of Robert III., and mother 
of James I. 


THE ABBOT. 


271 


i been injuriously deprived ; and yet more so as the professor of a 
religion which she detested worse than paganism. 

Such was the dame who, with stately mien, and sharp yet 
handsome features shrouded by her black velvet coif, interro- 
gated the domestic who steered her barge to the shore, what had 
become of Lindesay and Sir Robert Melville. The man related 
what had passed, and she smiled scornfully as she replied, “ Fools 
must be flattered, not foughten 1 with. Row back, — make thy 
excuse as thou canst ; say Lord Ruthven hath already reached 
this castle, and that he is impatient for Lord Lindesay’s presence. 
Away with thee, Randal, — yet stay; what galopin 2 is that thou 
hast brought hither ? ” 

“ So please you, my lady, he is the page who is to wait 
upon ” — 

“ Ay, the new male minion,” said the Lady Lochleven ; “ the 
female attendant arrived yesterday. I shall have a well-ordered 
house with this lady and her retinue ; but I trust they will soon find 
some others to undertake such a charge. Begone, Randal ; — and 
you ” (to Roland Graeme) “ follow me to the garden.” 

She led the way with a slow and stately step to the small 
garden, which, inclosed by a stone wall ornamented with statues, 
and an artificial fountain in the center, extended its dull par- 
terres 3 on the side of the courtyard, with which it communicated 
by a low and arched portal. Within the narrow circuit of its 
formal and limited walks Mary Stuart was now learning to per- 
form the weary part of a prisoner, which, with little interval, she 
was doomed to sustain during the remainder of her life. She 
was followed in her slow and melancholy exercise by two female 
attendants; but in the first glance which Roland Graeme be- 
stowed upon one so illustrious by birth, so distinguished by her 
beauty, accomplishments, and misfortunes, he was sensible of the 
presence of no other than the unhappy Queen of Scotland. 

Her face, her form, have been so deeply impressed upon the 

1 Obsolete form of “ fought.” 

2 Errand boy ; young rascal. 


3 Flower beds. 


272 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


imagination, that even at the distance of nearly three centuries, 
it is unnecessary to remind the most ignorant and uninformed 
reader of the striking traits which characterize that remarkable 
countenance, which seems at once to combine our ideas of the 
majestic, the pleasing, and the brilliant, leaving us to doubt 
whether they express most happily the queen, the beauty, or the 
accomplished woman. Who is there that, at the very mention 
of Mary Stuart’s name, has not her countenance before him, 
familiar as that of the mistress of his youth, or the favorite < 
daughter of his advanced age? Even those who feel themselves | 
compelled to believe all, or much, of what her enemies laid to 
her charge, cannot think without a sigh upon a countenance ex- 
pressive of anything rather than the foul crimes with which she 
was charged when living, and which still continue to shade, if 
not to blacken, her memory. That brow, so truly open and re- 
gal ; those eyebrows, so regularly graceful, which yet were saved 
from the charge of regular insipidity by the beautiful effect 
of the hazel eyes which they overarched, and which seem to 
utter a thousand histories ; the nose, with all its Grecian pre- 
cision of outline ; the mouth, so well proportioned, so sweetly 
formed, as if designed to speak nothing but what was delightful 
to hear; the dimpled chin; the stately, swan-like neck, — form a 
countenance the like of which we know not to have existed in 
any other character moving in that class of life, where the ac- 
tresses as well as the actors command general and undivided 
attention. It is in vain to say that the portraits 1 which exist of 
this remarkable woman are not like each other ; for, amidst their 
discrepancy, each possesses general features which the eye at 
once acknowledges as peculiar to the vision which our imagina- 
tion has raised while we read her history for the first time, and 
which has been impressed upon it by the numerous prints and 
pictures which we have seen. Indeed, we cannot look on the 

1 Several portraits are preserved at Holyrood, and elsewhere. The best 
representations of her are the contemporary portraits by the French painter 
Clouet (or Janet), and the statue on her tomb at Westminster. 


THE ABBOT. 


2 73 


worst of them, however deficient in point of execution, without 
saying that it is meant for Queen Mary ; and no small instance it 
is of the power of beauty, that her charms should have remained 
the subject, not merely of admiration, but of warm and chivalrous 
interest, after the lapse of such a length of time. We know that 
by far the most acute of those who, in latter days, have adopted 
the unfavorable view of Mary’s character, longed, like the exe- 
cutioner before his dreadful task was performed, to kiss the fair 
hand of her on whom he was about to perform so horrible a 
duty. 

Dressed, then, in a deep mourning robe, and with all those 
charms of face, shape, and manner with which faithful tradition 
has made each reader familiar, Mary Stuart advanced to meet 
the Lady of Lochleven, who, on her part, endeavored to conceal 
dislike and apprehension under the appearance of respectful in- 
difference. The truth was, that she had experienced repeatedly 
the Queen’s superiority in that species of disguised yet cutting 
sarcasm with which women can successfully avenge themselves 
for real and substantial injuries. It may be well doubted whether 
this talent was not as fatal to its possessor as the many others 
enjoyed by that highly gifted, but most unhappy, female ; for, 
while it often afforded her a momentary triumph over her 
keepers, it failed not to exasperate their resentment ; and the 
satire and sarcasm in which she had indulged were frequently 
retaliated by the deep and bitter hardships which they had the 
power of inflicting. It is well known that her death was at 
length hastened by a letter which she wrote to Queen Elizabeth, 
in which she treated her jealous rival , 1 and the Countess of 
Shrewsbury , 2 with the keenest irony and ridicule. 

As the ladies met together, the Queen said, bending her head 

1 Queen Elizabeth disliked Mary, not only because she herself was a child- 
less queen and a Protestant, but because Mary never definitely relinquished 
her claim to the English throne (see Introduction). 

2 The Earl of Shrewsbury was appointed by Elizabeth to be Mary’s jailer. 
He held her a prisoner from 1572 to 1586. 

18 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


274 

at the same time, in return to the obeisance of the Lady Loch- 
leven, “We are this day fortunate. We enjoy the company of 
our amiable hostess at an unusual hour, and during a period 
which we have hitherto been permitted to give to our private 
exercise. But our good hostess knows well she has at all times 
access to our presence, and need not observe the useless cere- 
mony of requiring our permission.” 

“ I am sorry my presence is deemed an intrusion by your 
Grace,” said the Lady of Lochleven. “ I came but to announce 
the arrival of an addition to your train,” motioning with her 
hand towards Roland Graeme ; “ a circumstance to which ladies 
are seldom indifferent.” 

“ Oh ! I crave your ladyship’s pardon, and am bent to the 
earth with obligations for the kindness of my nobles — or my 
sovereigns shall I call them ? — who have permitted me such a 
respectable addition to my personal retinue.” 

“They have indeed studied, madam,” said the Lady of Loch- 
leven, “ to show their kindness towards your Grace, something at 
the risk, perhaps, of sound policy, and I trust their doings will not 
be misconstrued.” 

“ Impossible ! ” said the Queen ; “ the bounty which permits 
the daughter of so many kings, and who yet is Queen of the 
realm, the attendance of two waiting women and a boy, is a 
grace which Mary Stuart can never sufficiently acknowledge. 
Why ! my train will be equal to that of any country dame in this 
your Kingdom of Fife , 1 saving but the lack of a gentleman usher, 
and a pair or two of blue-coated serving men. But I must not 
forget, in my selfish joy, the additional trouble and charges to 
which this magnificent augmentation of our train will put our 
kind hostess, and the whole house of Lochleven. It is this 
prudent anxiety, ' I am aware, which clouds your brows, my 
worthy lady. But be of good cheer; the Crown of Scotland 

1 The name of Fife was given to a much greater territory in Pictish times 
than at present ; and the entire district, from its great extent and value, re- 
ceived the popular name of the Kingdom of Fife. 


THE ABBOT. 


2 75 

has many a fair manor, and your affectionate son, and my no 
less affectionate brother, will endow the good knight your hus- 
band with the best of them, ere Mary should be dismissed from 
this hospitable castle from your ladyship’s lack of means to sup- 
port the charges.” 

“The Douglases of Lochleven, madam,” answered the lady, 
“ have known for ages how to discharge their duty to the State, 
without looking for reward, even when the task was both irk- 
some and dangerous.” 

“Nay ! but, my dear Lochleven,” said the Queen, “you are 
overscrupulous. I pray you accept of a goodly manor. What 
should support the Queen of Scotland in this her princely court, 
saving her own crown lands ? 1 and who should minister to the 
wants of a mother, save an affectionate son like the Earl of 
Murray, who possesses so wonderfully both the power and incli- 
nation? Or said you it was the danger of the task which clouded 
your smooth and hospitable brow? No doubt, a page is a formi- 
dable addition to my bodyguard of females ; and I bethink me 
it must have been for that reason that my Lord of Lindesay 
refused even now to venture within the reach of a force so 
formidable, without being attended by a competent retinue.” 

The Lady Lochleven started, and looked something surprised ; 
and Mary, suddenly changing her manner from the smooth iron- 
ical affectation of mildness to an accent of austere command, 
and drawing up at the same time her fine person, said, with the 
full majesty of her rank, “Yes ! Lady of Lochleven; I know 
that Ruthven is already in the castle, and that Lindesay waits 
on the bank the return of your barge to bring him hither along 
with Sir Robert Melville. For what purpose do these nobles 
come ? and why am I not in ordinary decency apprised of their 
arrival ? ” 

“Their purpose, madam,” replied the Lady of Lochleven, 
“ they must themselves explain ; but a formal annunciation were 

1 Lands belonging directly to the sovereign, not distributed on feudal 
tenure. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


276 

needless, where your Grace hath attendants who can play the 
espial so well.” 

“ Alas ! poor Fleming,” said the Queen, turning to the elder 
of the female attendants, “ thou wilt be tried, condemned, and 
gibbeted for a spy in the garrison, because thou didst chance to 
cross the great hall while my good Lady of Lochleven was 
parleying at the full pitch of her voice with her pilot Randal. 
Put black wool in thy ears, girl, as you value the wearing of 
them longer. Remember, in the Castle of Lochleven, ears and 
tongues are matters not of use, but for show merely. Our good 
hostess can hear, as well as speak, for us all. — We excuse your 
farther attendance, my lady hostess,” she said, once more ad- 
dressing the object of her resentment, “and retire to prepare for 
an interview with our rebel lords. We will use the antechamber 
of our sleeping apartment as our hall of audience. — You, young 
man,” she proceeded, addressing Roland Graeme, and at once 
softening the ironical sharpness of her manner into good-humored 
raillery, “ you, who are all our male attendance, from our Lord 
High Chamberlain down to our least galopin, follow us to pre- 
pare our court.” 

She turned, and walked slowly towards the castle. The Lady 
of Lochleven folded her arms, and smiled in bitter resentment, 
as she watched her retiring steps. 

“ Thy whole male attendance ! ” she muttered, repeating the 
Queen’s last words ; “ and well for thee had it been had thy train 
never been larger; ” then, turning to Roland, in whose way she 
had stood while making this pause, she made room for him to 
pass, saying at the same time, “Art thou already eavesdropping? 1 
Follow thy mistress, minion, and, if thou wilt, tell her what I have 
now said.” 

Roland Graeme hastened after his royal mistress and her 
attendants, who had just entered a postern gate communicating 
betwixt the castle and the small garden. They ascended a 

1 Listening to private conversation ; so called from the practice of standing 
under the eaves to hear what was said within the house. 


THE ABBOT. 


2 77 

winding stair as high as the second story, which was in a great 
measure occupied by a suite of three rooms, opening into each 
other, and assigned as the dwelling of the captive Princess. The 
outermost was a small hall or anteroom, within which opened a 
large parlor, and from that again the Queen’s bedroom. Another 
small apartment, which opened into the same parlor, contained 
the beds of the gentlewomen in waiting. 

Roland Graeme stopped, as became his station, in the outer- 
most of these apartments, there to await such orders as might 
be communicated to him. From the grated window of the 
room he saw Lindesay, Melville, and their followers disembark, 
and observed that they were met at the castle gate by a third 
noble, to whom Lindesay exclaimed, in his loud, harsh voice, 
“ My Lord of Ruthven, you have the start of us ! ” 

At this instant, the page’s attention was called to a burst of 
hysterical sobs from the inner apartment, and to the hurried 
ejaculations of the terrified females, which led him almost in- 
stantly to hasten to their assistance. When he entered, he saw 
that the Queen had thrown herself into the large chair which 
stood nearest the door, and was sobbing for breath in a strong 
fit of hysterical affection. The elder female supported her in 
her arms, while the younger bathed her face with water and 
tears alternately. 

“ Hasten, young man ! ” said the elder lady, in alarm, “fly — 
call in assistance — she is swooning ! ” 

But the Queen ejaculated in a faint and broken voice, “ Stir 
not, I charge you ! call no one to witness — I am better — I 
shall recover instantly.” And, indeed, with an effort which 
seemed like that of one struggling for life, she sat up in her 
chair, and endeavored to resume her composure, while her fea- 
tures yet trembled with the violent emotion of body and mind 
which she had undergone. “I am ashamed of my weakness, 
girls,” she said, taking the hands of her attendants ; “ but it is 
over — and I am Mary Stuart once more. The savage tone of 
that man’s voice — my knowledge of his insolence — the name 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


278 

which he named — the purpose for which they come, may excuse 
a moment’s weakness; — and it shall be a moment’s only.” She 
snatched from her head the curch, or cap, which had been dis- 
ordered during her hysterical agony, shook down the thick clus- 
tered tresses of dark brown which had been before veiled under 
it, and, drawing her slender fingers across the labyrinth which 
they formed, she arose from the chair, and stood like the inspired 
image of a Grecian prophetess, in a mood which partook at once 
of sorrow and pride, of smiles and of tears. “We are ill 
appointed,” she said, “ to meet our rebel subjects; but, as far as 
we may, we will strive to present ourselves as becomes their 
Queen. Follow me, my maidens,” she said. “ What says thy 
favorite song, my Fleming ? — 

“ ‘ My maids, come to my dressing-bower, 

And deck my nut-brown hair ; 

Where’er ye laid a plait before, 

Look ye lay ten times mair.’ * 

Alas ! ” she added, when she had repeated with a smile these 
lines of an old ballad, “ violence has already robbed me of the 
ordinary decorations of my rank ; and the few that nature gave 
me have been destroyed by sorrow and by fear.” Yet while she 
spoke thus, she again let her slender fingers stray through the 
wilderness of the beautiful tresses which veiled her kingly neck 
and swelling bosom, as if, in her agony of mind, she had not 
altogether lost the consciousness of her unrivaled charms. 
Roland Graeme, on whose youth, inexperience, and ardent sense 
of what was dignified and lovely, the demeanor of so fair and 
high-born a lady wrought like the charm of a magician, stood 
rooted to the spot with surprise and interest, longing to hazard 
his life in a quarrel so fair as that which Mary Stuart’s must 
needs be. She had been bred in France ; she was possessed of 
the most distinguished beauty ; she had reigned a Queen, and a 

1 From the ballad of “ Lord Thomas and Fair Annet.” See Percy’s 
Reliques, or Child’s English and Scottish Ballads. 


THE ABBOT. 


2 79 


Scottish Queen, to whom knowledge of character was as essential 
as the use of vital air. In all these capacities, Mary was, of all 
women on the earth, most alert at perceiving and using the ad- 
vantages which her charms gave her over almost all who came 
within the sphere of their influence. She cast on Roland a 
glance which might have melted a heart of stone. “ My poor 
boy,” she said, with a feeling partly real, partly politic, “ thou art 
a stranger to us, sent to this doleful captivity from the society of 
some tender mother, or sister, or maiden, with whom you had 
freedom to tread a gay measure round the Maypole. I grieve 
for you ; but you are the only male in my limited household ; 
wilt thou obey my orders ? ” 

“ To the death, madam,” said Graeme in a determined tone. 

“ Then keep the door of mine apartment,” said the Queen ; 
“keep it till they offer actual violence, or till we shall be fitly 
arrayed to receive these intrusive visitors.” 

“ I will defend it till they pass over my body,” said Roland 
Graeme ; any hesitation which he had felt concerning the line of 
conduct he ought to pursue being completely swept away by the 
impulse of the moment. 

“Not so, my good youth,” answered Mary; “not so, I com- 
mand thee. If I have one faithful subject beside me, much 
need, God wot, I have to care for his safety. Resist them but 
till they are put to the shame of using actual violence, and then 
give way, I charge you. Remember my commands.” And, 
with a smile expressive at once of favor and of authority, she 
turned from him, and, followed by her attendants, entered the 
bedroom. 

The youngest paused for half a second ere she followed her 
companion, and made a signal to Roland Graeme with her hand. 
He had been already long aware that this was Catherine Seyton, 
a circumstance which could not much surprise a youth of quick 
intellects, who recollected the sort of mysterious discourse which 
had passed betwixt the two matrons at the deserted nunnery, and 
on which his meeting with Catherine in this place seemed to 


28 o 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


cast so much light. Yet such was the engrossing effect of Mary’s 
presence, that it surmounted for the moment even the feelings 
of a youthful lover; and it* was not. until Catherine Seyton 
had disappeared, that Roland began to consider in what rela- 
tion they were to stand to each other. “ She held up her hand 
to me in a commanding manner,” he thought ; “ perhaps she 
wanted to confirm my purpose for the execution of the Queen’s 
commands; for I think she could scarce purpose to scare me 
with the sort of discipline which she administered to the groom 
in the frieze jacket, and to poor Adam Woodcock. But we 
will see to that anon ; meantime, let us do justice to the trust 
reposed in us by this unhappy Queen. I think my Lord of 
Murray will himself own that it is the duty of a faithful page to 
defend his lady against intrusion on her privacy.” 

Accordingly, he stepped to the little vestibule, made fast, with 
lock and bar, the door which opened from thence to the large 
staircase, and then sat himself down to attend the result. He 
had not long to wait. A rude and strong hand first essayed to 
lift the latch, then pushed and shook the door with violence, 
and, when it resisted his attempt to open it, exclaimed, “Undo 
the door there, you within ! ” 

“Why, and at whose command,” said the page, “am I to 
undo the door of the apartments of the Queen of Scotland ? ” 

Another vain attempt, which made hinge and bolt jingle, 
showed that the impatient applicant without would willingly 
have entered altogether regardless of his challenge ; but at 
length an answer was returned. 

“ Undo the door, on your peril. The Lord Lindesay comes 
to speak with the Lady Mary of Scotland.” 

“ The Lord Lindesay, as a Scottish notle,” answered the page, 
“ must await his Sovereign’s leisure.” 

An earnest altercation ensued amongst those without, in 
which Roland distinguished the remarkably harsh voice of 
Lindesay in reply to Sir Robert Melville, who appeared to 
have been using some soothing language. “No! no! no! I 


THE ABBOT. 


281 


tell thee, no ! I will place a petard against the door rather 
than be balked by a profligate woman, and bearded by an in- 
I solent footboy.” 

“Yet, at least,” said Melville, “let me try fair means in the 
first instance. Violence to a lady would stain your scutcheon 
forever. Or await till my Lord Ruthven comes.” 

“ I will await no longer,” said Lindesay; “it is high time the 
business were done, and we on our return to the Council. But 
thou mayest try thy fair play, as thou callest it, while I cause 
my train to prepare the petard. I came hither provided with 
as good gunpowder as blew up the Kirk of Field.” 

“ For God’s sake, be patient,” said Melville ; and approaching 
the door, he said, as speaking to those within, “ Let the Queen 
know that I, her faithful servant, Robert Melville, do entreat her, 
for her own sake, and to prevent worse consequences, that she 
will undo the door, and admit Lord Lindesay, who brings a mis- 
sion from the Council of State.” 

“ I will do your errand to the Queen,” said the page, “ and 
report to you her answer.” 

He went to the door of the bedchamber, and tapping against 
it gently, it was opened by the elderly lady, to whom he com- 
municated his errand, and returned with directions from the 
Queen to admit Sir Robert Melville and Lord Lindesay. Roland 
Graeme returned to the vestibule, and opened the door accord- 
ingly, into which the Lord Lindesay strode, with the air of a 
soldier who has fought his way into a conquered fortress ; while 
Melville, deeply dejected, followed him more slowly. 

“I draw you to witness, and to record,” said the page to this 
last, “that, save for the especial commands of the Queen, I 
would have made good the entrance, with my best strength, and 
my best blood, against all Scotland.” 

“Be silent, young man,” said Melville in a tone of grave 
rebuke; “add not brands to fire; this is no time to make a 
flourish of thy boyish chivalry.” 

“ She has not appeared even yet,” said Lindesay, who had 


282 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


now reached the midst of the parlor or audience room ; “ how 
call you this trifling ? ” 

“ Patience, my lord,” replied Sir Robert, “ time presses not, 
and Lord Ruthven hath not as yet descended.” 

At this moment the. door of the inner apartment opened, and 
Queen Mary presented herself, advancing with an air of peculiar 
grace and majesty, and seeming totally unruffled, either by the 
visit, or by the rude manner in which it had been enforced. Her 
dress was a robe of black velvet; a small ruff, open in front, 
gave a full view of her beautifully formed chin and neck, but 
veiled the bosom. On her head she wore a small cap of lace, 
and a transparent white veil hung from her shoulders over the 
long black robe, in large loose folds, so that it could be drawn 
at pleasure over the face and person. She wore a cross of gold 
around her neck, and had her rosary of gold and ebony hanging 
from her girdle. She was closely followed by her two ladies, 
who remained standing behind her during the conference. 
Even Lord Lindesay, though the rudest noble of that rude age, 
was surprised into something like respect by the unconcerned 
and majestic mien of her whom he had expected to find frantic 
with impotent passion, or dissolved in useless and vain sorrow, 
or overwhelmed with the fears likely in such a situation to assail 
fallen royalty. 

“We fear we have detained you, my Lord of Lindesay,” said 
the Queen, while she courtesied with dignity in answer to his 
reluctant obeisance ; “ but a female does not willingly receive 
her visitors without some minutes spent at the toilet. Men, my 
lord, are less dependent on such ceremonies.” 

Lord Lindesay, casting his eye down on his own travel-stained 
and disordered dress, muttered something of a hasty journey, 
and the Queen paid her greeting to Sir Robert Melville with 
courtesy, and even, as it seemed, with kindness. There was then 
a dead pause, during which Lindesay looked towards the door, 
as if expecting with impatience the colleague of their embassy. 
The Queen alone was entirely unembarrassed, and, as if to break 


THE ABBOT. 


283 

the silence, she addressed Lord Lindesay, with a glance at the 
large and cumbrous sword which he wore, as already mentioned, 
hanging from his neck. 

“ You have there a trusty and a weighty traveling companion, 
my lord. I trust you expected to meet with no enemy here, 
against whom such a formidable weapon could be necessary ? 
It is, methinks, somewhat a singular ornament for a court, though 
I am, as I well need to be, too much of a Stuart to fear a 
sword.” 

“ It is not the first time, madam,” replied Lindesay, bringing 
round the weapon so as to rest its point on the ground, and 
leaning one hand on the huge cross handle, “ it is not the first 
time that this weapon has intruded itself into the presence of the 
House of Stuart.” 

“ Possibly, my lord,” replied the Queen, “ it may have done 
service to my ancestors. Your ancestors were men of loyalty.” 

“Ay, madam,” replied he, “service it hath done; but such 
as kings love neither to acknowledge nor to reward. It was the 
service which the knife renders to the tree when trimming it to 
the quick, and depriving it of the superfluous growth of rank and 
unfruitful suckers, which rob it of nourishment.” 

“ You talk riddles, my lord,” said Mary ; “ I will hope the ex- 
planation carries nothing insulting with it.” 

“You shall judge, madam,” answered Lindesay. “With this 
good sword was Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, girded on 
the memorable day when he acquired the name of Bell-the-Cat, 1 
for dragging from the presence of your great-grandfather, the 
third James 2 of the race, a crew of minions, flatterers, and favor- 

1 The fable of the mice who planned to hang a warning bell around the 
neck of their enemy, the cat, is said to have been told in the council of the 
rebellious nobles ; and the Earl of Angus alone offered to undertake the dan- 
gerous office of “ belling the cat,” i.e., James III. 

2 James III., a weak but refined prince, preferred the society of painters 
and musicians to that of his jealous and turbulent nobles. In retaliation for 
an English foray, he gathered his forces for an inroad into England ; but at 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


284 

ites, whom he hanged over the bridge of Lauder, as a warning 
to such reptiles how they approach a Scottish throne. With 
this same weapon, the same inflexible champion of Scottish honor 
and nobility slew at one blow Spens of Kilspindie, a courtier of 
your grandfather, James IV., who had dared to speak lightly 
of him in the royal presence. They fought near the brook of 
Fala, 1 and Bell-the-Cat, with this blade, sheared through the thigh 
of his opponent, and lopped the limb as easily as a shepherd’s 
boy slices a twig from a sapling.” 

“ My lord,” replied the Queen, reddening, “ my nerves are too 
good to be alarmed even by this terrible history. May I ask 
how a blade so illustrious passed from the House of Douglas to 
that of Lindesay ? Methinks it should have been preserved as 
a consecrated relic, by a family who have held all that they 
could do against their king to be done in favor of their country.” 

“ Nay, madam,” said Melville, anxiously interfering, “ask not 
that question of Lord Lindesay. — And you, my lord, for shame, 
for decency, forbear to reply to it.” 

“ It is time that this lady should hear the truth,” replied 
Lindesay. 

“ And be assured,” said the Queen, “ that she will be moved 
to anger by none that you can tell her, my lord. There are 
cases in which just scorn has always the mastery over just 
anger.” 

“ Then know,” said Lindesay, “ that upon the field of Carberry 
Hill, 2 when that false and infamous traitor and murderer, James, 
sometime Earl of Bothwell, and nicknamed Duke of Orkney, 3 
offered to do personal battle with any of the associated nobles 

Lauder the nobles, headed by “ Bell-the-Cat,” seized and hanged the favor- 
ites, and made the king prisoner. After an interval of reconciliation, the re- 
bellion was renewed ; and in fleeing from the battle of Sauchieburn, the king 
was thrown from his horse and killed. 

1 In Edinburghshire. 

2 The battle in which Mary was taken prisoner (see Introduction). 

3 Mary made Bothwell Duke of Orkney a few days before she married 
him. 


THE ABBOT. 


285 

\ who came to drag him to justice, I accepted his challenge, and 
f was by the noble Earl of Morton gifted with his good sword, 
|l that I might therewith fight it out. Ah ! so help me Heaven, 
i had his presumption been one grain more, or his cowardice one 
; grain less, I should have done such work with this good steel on 
his traitorous corpse, that the hounds and carrion crows should 
have found their morsels daintily carved to their use ! ” 

The Queen’s courage well nigh gave way at the mention of 
j Bothwell’s name ; a name connected with such a train of guilt, 

; shame, and disaster. But the prolonged boast of Lindesay gave 
her time to rally herself, and to answer with an appearance of 
( cold contempt, “ It is easy to slay an enemy who enters not the 
j lists. But had Mary Stuart inherited her father’s sword as well 
[ as his scepter, the boldest of her rebels should not upon, that 
day have complained that they had no one to cope withal. 
Your lordship will forgive me if I abridge this conference. A 
brief description of a bloody fight is long enough to satisfy a 
lady’s curiosity ; and unless my Lord of Lindesay has something 
more important to tell us than of the deeds which old Bell-the-Cat 
achieved, and how he would himself have emulated them, had 
time and tide permitted, we will retire to our private apartment, 
and you, Fleming, shall finish reading to us yonder little treatise, 
Des Rodomontades Espagnolles .” 1 

“ Tarry, madam,” said Lindesay, his complexion reddening in 
his turn ; “ I know your quick wit too well of old to have sought 
an interview that you might sharpen its edge at the expense of 
my honor. Lord Ruthven and myself, with Sir Robert Melville 
as a concurrent , 2 come to your Grace on the part of the Secret 
Council , 3 to tender to you what much concerns the safety of 
your own life and the welfare of the State.” 

1 On Spanish Rodomontades. Rodomontade, vain rant or boasting, was 
so called from Rodomante, a brave but boastful Saracen leader opposed to 

Charlemagne in Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso, and Boiardo’s Orlando Inna- 
morato. 2 Colleague. 

3 The council of the Protestant nobles, who had dethroned Mary. 


286 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ The Secret Council ? ” said the Queen. “ By what powers 
can it subsist or act, while I, from whom it holds its character, 
am here detained under unjust restraint? But it matters not; 
w r hat concerns the welfare of Scotland shall be acceptable to 
Mary Stuart, come from whatever quarter it will ; and for what 
concerns her own life, she has lived long enough to be weary of 
it, even at the age of twenty-five. Where is your colleague, my 
lord ? why tarries he ? ” 

“ He comes, madam,” said Melville. The Queen became 
deadly pale, but instantly recovered herself by dint of strong 
and sudden resolution, j.ust as the noble, whose appearance 
seemed to excite such emotions in her bosom, entered the 
apartment in company with George Douglas, the youngest son 
of tlye Knight of Lochleven, who, during the absence of his 
father and brethren, acted as seneschal of the castle, under the 
direction of the elder Lady Lochleven, his father’s mother. 


CHAPTER XXII. 



ORD RUTHVEN had the look and bearing which became 


a soldier and a statesman, and the martial cast of his form 
and features procured him the popular epithet of Greysteil, by 
which he was distinguished by his intimates, after the hero of a 
metrical romance then generally known. His dress, which was 
a buff coat embroidered, had a half-military character, but ex- 
hibited nothing of the sordid negligence which distinguished that 
of Lindesay. But the son of an ill-fated sire, and the father 
of a yet more unfortunate family, bore in his look that cast of 
inauspicious melancholy by which the physiognomists of that 
time pretended to distinguish those who were predestined to a 
violent and unhappy death. 

The terror which the presence of this nobleman impressed on 
the Queen’s mind arose from the active share he had borne in 


THE ABBOT. 


287 

the slaughter of David Rizzio, his father having .presided at the 
perpetration of that abominable crime, although so weak from 
long and wasting illness that he could not endure the weight of 
his armor, having arisen from a sick bed to commit a murder in 
the presence of his Sovereign. On that occasion his son also 
had attended, and taken an active part. It was little to be won- 
dered at that the Queen should retain an instinctive terror 
for the principal actors in the murder. She returned, however, 
with grace the salutation of Lord Ruthven, and extended her 
hand to George Douglas, who kneeled, and kissed it with re- 
spect ; the first mark of a subject’s homage which Roland Graeme 
had seen any of them render to the captive Sovereign. She 
returned his greeting in silence, and there was a brief pause, 
during which the steward of the castle, a man of a sad brow and 
a severe eye, placed, under George Douglas’s directions, a table 
and writing materials ; and the page, obedient to his mistress’s 
dumb signal, advanced a large chair to the side on which the 
Queen stood, the table thus forming a sort of bar which divided 
the Queen and her personal followers from her unwelcome visit- 
ors. The steward then withdrew after a low reverence. When 
he had closed the door behind him, the Queen broke silence. 
“ With your favor, my lords, I will sit ; my walks are not in- 
deed extensive enough at present to fatigue me greatly, yet I find 
repose something more necessary than usual.” 

She sat down accordingly, and, shading her cheek with her 
beautiful hand, looked keenly and impressively at each of the 
nobles in turn. Mary Fleming applied her kerchief to her eyes, 
and Catherine Seyton and Roland Graeme exchanged a glance 
which showed that both were too deeply engrossed with senti- 
ments of interest and commiseration for their royal mistress, to 
think of anything which regarded themselves. 

“ I wait the purpose of your mission, my lords,” said the 
Queen, after she had been seated for about a minute without a 
word being spoken. “ I wait your message from those you call 
the Secret Council. I trust it is a petition of pardon, and a 


288 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


desire that I wjll resume my rightful throne, without using with 
due severity my right of punishing those who have dispossessed 
me of it.” 

“ Madam,” replied Ruthven, “ it is painful for us to speak harsh 
truths to a Princess who has long ruled us; but we come to 
offer, not to implore, pardon. In a word, madam, we have to 
propose to you on the part of the^Secret Council, that you sign 
these deeds, which will contribute greatly to the pacification of 
the State, the advancement of God’s word, and the welfare of 
your own future life.” 

“ Am I expected to take these fair words on trust, my lord ? 
or may I hear the contents of these reconciling papers, ere I am 
asked to sign them ? ” 

“Unquestionably, madam; it is our purpose and wish you 
should read what you are required to sign,” replied Ruthven. 

“ Required ? ” replied the Queen, with some emphasis ; “ but 
the phrase suits well the matter ; read, my lord.” 

The Lord Ruthven proceeded to read a formal instrument, 
running in the Queen’s name, and setting forth that she had 
been called, at an early age, to the administration of the crown 
and realm of Scotland, and had toiled diligently therein, until 
she was in body and spirit so wearied out and disgusted that 
she was unable any longer to endure the travail and pain of state 
affairs; and that since God had blessed her with a fair and 
hopeful son, she was desirous to insure to him, even while she 
yet lived, his succession to the crown, which was his by right 
of hereditary descent. “ Wherefore,” the instrument proceeded, 
“we, of the motherly affection we bear to our said son, have 
renounced and demitted , 1 and by these our letters of free good- 
will, renounce and demit the crown, government, and guiding 
of the realm of Scotland, in favor of our said son, that he may 
succeed to us as native Prince thereof, as much as if we had 
been removed by disease, and not by our own proper act. And 
that this demission of our royal authority may have the more 
1 Relinquished. 


THE ABBOT. 


289 

full and solemn effect, and none pretend ignorance, we give, 
grant, and commit full and free and plain power to our trusty 
cousins , 1 Lord Lindesay of the Byres, and William Lord Ruth- 
ven, to appear in our name before as many of the nobility, clergy, 
and burgesses as may be assembled at Stirling , 2 and there, in our 
name and behalf, publicly, and in their presence, to renounce the 
crown, guidance, and government of this our kingdom of Scotland.” 

The Queen here broke in with an air of extreme surprise. 
“ How is this, my lords ? ” she said. “ Are my ears turned rebels, 
that they deceive me with sounds so extraordinary? And yet it 
is no wonder that, having conversed so long with rebellion, they 
should now force its language upon my understanding. Say I 
am mistaken, my lords, — say, for the honor of yourselves and 
the Scottish nobility, that my right trusty cousins of Lindesay 
and Ruthven, two barons of warlike fame and ancient line, have 
not sought the prison house of their kind mistress for such a 
purpose as these words seem to imply. Say, for the sake of 
honor and loyalty, that my ears have deceived me.” 

“ No, madam,” said Ruthven gravely, “your ears do not de- 
ceive you ; they deceived you when they were closed against 
the preachers of the Evangel, and the honest advice of your 
faithful subjects, and when they were ever open to flattery of 
pickthanks and traitors, foreign cubiculars 3 and domestic minions. 
The land may no longer brook the rule of one who cannot rule 
herself ; wherefore, I pray you to comply with the last remaining 
wish of your subjects and counselors, and spare yourself and us 
the farther agitation of matter so painful.” 

“ And is this all my loving subjects require of me, my 
lord ? ” said Mary in a tone of bitter irony. “ Do they really 
stint themselves to the easy boon that I should yield up the 
crown, which is mine by birthright, to an infant which is scarcely 
more than a year old, fling down my scepter, and take up a 
distaff? — Oh no ! it is too little for them to ask. That other 

1 A term often applied to the greater lords by the sovereign. 

2 An ancient town in Stirlingshire. 3 Private servants. 

*9 


290 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


roll of parchment contains something harder to be complied with, 
and which may more highly task my readiness to comply with 
the petitions of my lieges.” 1 

“This parchment,” answered Ruthven in the same tone of 
inflexible gravity, and unfolding the instrument as he spoke, “ is 
one by which your Grace constitutes your nearest in blood, and 
the most honorable and trustworthy of your subjects, James, 
Earl of Murray, Regent of the kingdom during the minority of 
the young King. He already holds the appointment from the 
Secret Council.” 

The Queen gave a sort of shriek, and, clapping her hands 
together, exclaimed, “ Comes the arrow out of his quiver ? out 
of my brother’s bow ? Alas ! I looked for his return from 
France 2 as my sole, at least my readiest, chance of deliverance. 
And yet, when I heard that he had assumed the government, 
I guessed he would shame to wield it in my name.” 

“I must pray your answer, madam,” said Lord Ruthven, “to 
the demand of the Council.” 

“ The demand of the Council ! ” said the Queen ; “ say rather 
the demand of a set of robbers, impatient to divide the spoil 
they have seized. To such a demand, and sent by the mouth 
of a traitor, whose scalp, but for my womanish mercy, should 
long since have stood on the city gates, Mary of Scotland has 
no answer.” 

“ I trust, madam,” said Lord Ruthven, “ my being unaccept- 
able to your presence will not add to your obduracy of resolution. 
It may become you to remember that the death of the minion, 
Rizzio, cost the House of Ruthven its head and leader. My 
father, 3 more worthy than a whole province of such vile syco- 
phants, died in exile, and broken-hearted.” 

1 Subjects. 

2 Murray withdrew to France in April, 1567, before Mary’s marriage with 
Bothwell, but was recalled in the following August by the lords. 

3 The lords concerned in Rizzio’s murder fled to England, and were for 
some time outlawed. Ruthven, already ill, died in exile. 


THE ABBOT. 


291 


The Queen clasped her hands on her face, and, resting her 
arms on the table, stooped down her head, and wept so bitterly 
that the tears were seen to find their way in streams between the 
white and slender fingers with which she endeavored to conceal 
them. 

“ My lords,” said Sir Robert Melville, “ this is too much rigor. 
Under your lordships’ favor, we came hither, not to revive old 
griefs, but to find the mode of avoiding new ones.” 

“ Sir Robert Melville,” said Ruthven, “ we best know for what 
purpose we were delegated hither, and wherefore you were some- 
what unnecessarily sent to attend us.” 

“ Nay, by my hand,” said Lord Lindesay, “ I know not why we 
were cumbered with the good knight, unless he comes in place 
of the lump of sugar which pothicars 1 put into their wholesome 
but bitter medicaments, to please a froward child; a needless 
labor, methinks, where men have the means to make them swallow 
the physic otherwise.” 

“ Nay, my lords,” said Melville, “ ye best know your own secret 
instructions. I conceive I shall best obey mine in striving to 
mediate between her Grace and you.” 

“ Be silent, Sir Robert Melville,” said the Queen, arising, and 
her face still glowing with agitation as she spoke. “ My ker- 
chief, Fleming, — I shame that traitors should have power to 
move me thus. — Tell me, proud lords,” she added, wiping away 
the tears as she spoke, “ by what earthly warrant can liege sub- 
jects pretend to challenge the rights of an anointed 2 sovereign ? 
to throw off the allegiance they have vowed, and to take away the 
crown from the head on which Divine warrant hath placed it ? ” 

“Madam,” said Ruthven, “I will deal plainly with you. 
Your reign, from the dismal field of Pinkie Cleugh , 3 when you 
were a babe in the cradle, till now that ye stand a grown dame 

1 Apothecaries. 

2 A king, like a priest, was consecrated by unction, or the use of holy oil. 

3 About seven miles east of Edinburgh, on the outskirts of Musselburgh. 
Here the Scots were defeated by the English in 1 547* The aim of the Eng- 


292 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


before us, hath been such a tragedy of losses, disasters, civil dis- 
sensions, and foreign wars, that the like is not to be found in our 
chronicles. The French and English have, with one consent, 
made Scotland the battlefield on which to fight out their own 
ancient quarrel. For ourselves, every man’s hand hath been 
against his brother, nor hath a year passed over without rebellion 
and slaughter, exile of nobles, and oppressing of the commons. 
We may endure it no longer, and therefore, as a Prince to whom 
God hath refused the gift of hearkening to wise counsel, and on 
whose dealings and projects no blessing hath ever descended, 
we pray you to give way to other rule and governance of the 
land, that a remnant may yet be saved to this distracted realm.” 

“ My lord,” said Mary, “ it seems to me that you fling on my 
unhappy and devoted head those evils which, with far more jus- 
tice, I may impute to your own turbulent, wild, and untamable 
dispositions ; the frantic violence with which you, the magnates 
of Scotland, enter into feuds against each other, sticking at no 
cruelty to gratify your wrath, taking deep revenge for the slight- 
est offenses, and setting at defiance those wise laws which your 
ancestors made for stanching of such cruelty, rebelling against 
the lawful authority, and bearing yourselves as if there were no 
king in the land; or rather as if each were king in his own 
premises. And now you throw the blame on me — on me, 
whose life has been imbittered, whose sleep has been broken, 
whose happiness has been wrecked by your dissensions. Have 
I not myself been obliged to traverse wilds and mountains, at the 
head of a few faithful followers, to maintain peace and to put 
down oppression? Have I not worn harness on my person, and 
carried pistols at my saddle ; fain to lay aside the softness of a 
woman, and the dignity of a queen, that I might show an exam- 
ple to my followers ? ” 

“We grant, madam,” said Lindesay, “that the affrays occa- 
sioned by your misgovernment may sometimes have startled you 

lish was to get possession of the young Queen and marry her to the young 
King, Edward VI., but it was defeated by sending her to France. 


THE ABBOT. 


2 93 


in the midst of a masque or galliard ; or it may be that such 
may have interrupted the idolatry of the mass, or the jesuitical 
counsels of some French ambassador. But the longest and 
severest journey which your Grace has taken, in my memory, 
was from Hawick 1 to Hermitage Castle; and whether it was for 
the weal of the State, or for your own honor, rests with your 
Grace’s conscience.” 

The Queen turned to him with inexpressible sweetness of 
lone and manner, and that engaging look which Heaven had 
assigned her as if to show that the choicest arts to win men’s 
affections may be given in vain. “ Lindesay,” she said, “ you 
spoke not to me in this stern tone, and with such scurrile taunt, 
yon fair summer evening when you and I shot at the butts 2 
against the Earl of Mar and Mary Livingstone , 3 and won of them 
the evening’s collation, in the privy garden of St. Andrew’s . 4 
The Master of Lindesay was then my friend, and vowed to be 
my soldier. How I have offended the Lord of Lindesay I know 
not, unless honors have changed manners.” 

Hardhearted as he was, Lindesay seemed struck with this un- 
expected appeal, but almost instantly replied, “ Madam, it is well 
known that your Grace could, in those days, make fools of 
whomever approached you. I pretend not to have been wiser 
than others. But gayer men and better courtiers soon jostled 
aside my rude homage, and I think that your Grace cannot but 
remember times when my awkward attempts to take the man- 
ners that pleased you were the sport of the court popinjays, the 
Marys, and the Frenchwomen.” 

“ My lord, I grieve if I have offended you through idle gayety,” 
said the Queen ; “ and can but say it was most unwittingly done. 

1 A town in Roxburghshire, near Jedburgh. Lindesay refers to the 

Queen’s ride in October, 1566, of forty-eight miles in one day, over rough 
moors, to visit Bothwell, then lying wounded at Hermitage Castle, in 
Liddesdale. 2 Target. 

3 One of the four Marys. 

4 In Fife. Here the Queen spent some days in sport, in January, 1565. 


294 


S/R WALTER SCOTT. 


You are fully revenged; for through gayety,” she said with a 
sigh, “ will I never offend any one more.” 

“ Our time is wasting, madam,” said Lord Ruthven ; “ I must 
pray your decision on this weighty matter which I have submitted 
to you.” 

“ What, my lord ! ” said the Queen, “ upon the instant, and 
without a moment’s time to deliberate ? Can the Council, as 
they term themselves, expect this of me ? ” 

“ Madam,” replied Ruthven, “ the Council hold the opinion 
that since the fatal term which passed betwixt the night of King 
Henry’s murder and the day of Carberry Hill, your Grace should 
have held you prepared for the measure now proposed, as the 
easiest escape from your numerous dangers and difficulties.” 

“ Great God! ” exclaimed the Queen ; “ and is it as a boon that 
you propose to me what every Christian king ought to regard 
as a loss of honor equal to the loss of life ? You take from me 
my crown, my power, my subjects, my wealth, my state. What, 
in the name of every saint, can you offer, or do you offer, in re- 
quital of my compliance ? ” 

“We give you pardon,” answered Ruthven sternly ; “ we give 
you space and means to spend your remaining life in penitence 
and seclusion ; we give you time to make your peace with 
Heaven, and to receive the pure Gospel which you have ever 
rejected and persecuted.” 

The Queen turned pale at the menace which this speech, as 
well as the rough and inflexible tones of the speaker, seemed 
distinctly to infer. “ And if I do not comply with your request 
so fiercely urged, my lord ; what then follows ? ” 

She said this in a voice in which female and natural fear was 
contending with the feelings of insulted dignity. T[\ere was a 
pause, as if no one cared to return to the question a distinct 
answer. At length Ruthven spoke : “ There is little need to tell 
to your Grace, who are well read both in the laws and in the 
chronicles of the realm, that murder and adultery are crimes for 
which ere now queens themselves have suffered death.” 


THE ABBOT. 


2 95 


“ And where, my lord, or how, found you an accusation so 
horrible against her who stands before you ? ” said Queen Mary. 
“ The foul and odious calumnies which have poisoned the gen- 
eral mind of Scotland, and have placed me a helpless prisoner in 
your hands, are surely no proof of guilt ? ” 

“We need look for no farther proof,” replied the stern Lord 
Ruthven, “ than the shameless marriage betwixt the widow of the 
murdered and the leader of the band of murderers! They that 
joined hands in the fated month of May had already united hearts 
and counsel in the deed which preceded that marriage but a few 
brief weeks.” 

“ My lord, my lord ! ” said the Queen eagerly, “ remember 
well there were more consents than mine to that fatal union, that 
most unhappy act of a most unhappy life. The evil steps 
adopted by sovereigns are often the suggestion of bad counsel- 
ors ; but these counselors are worse than fiends who tempt and 
betray, if they themselves are the first to call their unfortunate 
princes to answer for the consequences of their own advice. 
Heard ye never of a bond by the nobles, my lords, recommend- 
ing that ill-fated union to the ill-fated Mary? Methinks, were 
it carefully examined, we should see that the names of Morton, 
and of Lindesay, and of Ruthven, may be found in that bond, 
which pressed me to marry that unhappy man. — Ah! stout and 
loyal Lord Herries , 1 who never knew guile or dishonor, you 
bent your noble knee to me in vain, to warn me of my danger, 
and wert yet the first to draw thy good sword in my cause when 
I suffered for neglecting thy counsel. Faithful knight and true 
noble, what a difference betwixt thee and those counselors of 
evil who now threaten my life for having fallen into the snares 
they spread for me ! ” 

“ Madam,” said Ruthven, “ we know that you are an orator ; 
and perhaps for that reason the Council has sent hither men 
whose converse hath been more with the wars, than with the 

1 A stanch advocate of Queen Mary. He is the reputed author of a 
history of her reign. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


296 

language of the schools or the cabals 1 of state. We but desire 
to know if, on assurance of life and honor, ye will demit the 
rule of this kingdom of Scotland ? ” 

“ And what warrant have I,” said the Queen, “ that ye will 
keep treaty with me, if I should barter my kingly estate for se- 
clusion and leave to weep in secret ? ” 

“ Our honor and our word, madam,” answered Ruthven. 

“ They are too slight and unsolid pledges, my lord,” said the 
Queen; “add at least a handful of thistledown to give them 
weight in the balance.” 

“Away, Ruthven,” said Lindesay; “she was ever deaf to 
counsel, save of slaves and sycophants ; let her remain by her 
refusal, and abide by it ! ” 

“ Stay, my lord,” said Sir Robert Melville, “ or rather permit 
me to have but a few minutes’ private audience with her Grace. 
If my presence with you could avail aught, it must be as a me- 
diator. Do not, I conjure you, leave the castle, or break off the 
conference, until I bring you word how her Grace shall finally 
stand disposed.” 

“We will remain in the hall,” said Lindesay, “for half an 
hour’s space; but in despising our words and our pledge of 
honor, she has touched the honor of my name. Let her look 
herself to the course she has to pursue. If the half hour should 
pass away without her determining to comply with the demands 
of the nation, her career will be brief enough.” 

With little ceremony the two nobles left the apartment, 
traversed the vestibule, and descended the winding stairs, the 
clash of Lindesay’s huge sword being heard as it rang against 
each step in his descent. George Douglas followed them, after 
exchanging with Melville a gesture of surprise and sympathy. 

As soon as they were gone, the Queen, giving way to grief, 
fear, and agitation, threw herself into the seat, wrung her hands, 
and seemed to abandon herself to despair. Her female attend- 
ants, weeping themselves, endeavored yet to pray her to be com- 
1 Intrigues. 


THE ABBOT. 


297 


posed, and Sir Robert Melville, kneeling at her feet, made the 
same entreaty. After giving way to a passionate burst of sor- 
row, she at length said to Melville, “ Kneel not to me, Melville ; 
mock me not with the homage of the person, when the heart is 
far away. Why stay you behind with the deposed, the con- 
demned, her who has but few hours perchance to live? You 
have been favored as well as the rest ; why do you continue 
the empty show of gratitude and thankfulness any longer than 
they? ” 

“Madam,” said Sir Robert Melville, “so help me Heaven at 
my need, my heart is as true to you as when you were in your 
highest place.” 

“ True to me ! true to me ! ” repeated the Queen with some 
scorn. “Tush, Melville, what signifies the truth which walks 
hand in hand with my enemies’ falsehood? Thy hand and thy 
sword have never been so well acquainted that I can trust thee 
in aught where manhood is required. — Oh, Sey ton, for thy bold 
father, who is both wise, true, and valiant ! ” 

Roland Graeme could withstand no longer his earnest desire 
to offer his services to a Princess so distressed and so beautiful. 
“ If one sword,” he said, “ madam, can do anything to back the 
wisdom of this grave counselor, or to defend your rightful cause, 
here is my weapon, and here is my hand ready to draw and use 
it.” And raising his sword with one hand, he laid the other 
upon the hilt. 

As he thus held up the weapon, Catherine Seyton exclaimed, 
“ Methinks I see a token from my father, madam ; ” and imme- 
diately crossing the apartment, she took Roland Graeme by the 
skirt of the cloak, and asked him earnestly whence he had that 
sword. 

The page answered with surprise, “ Methinks this is no pres- 
ence in which to jest. Surely, damsel, you yourself best know 
whence and how I obtained the weapon.” 

“ Is this a time for folly ? ” said Catherine Seyton. “ Un- 
sheathe the sword instantly ! ” 


SZJ? WALTER SCOTT. 


298 

“ If the Queen commands me,” said the youth, looking towards 
his royal mistress. 

“ For shame, maiden ! ” said the Queen ; “ wouldst thou insti- 
gate the poor boy to enter into useless strife with the two most 
approved 1 soldiers in Scotland ? ” 

“ In your Grace’s cause,” replied the page, “ I will venture my 
life upon them ! ” And as he spoke, he drew his weapon partly 
from the sheath, and a piece of parchment, rolled around the 
blade, fell out and dropped on the floor. Catherine Seyton 
caught it up with eager haste. 

“ It is my father’s handwTiting,” she said, “ and doubtless con- 
veys his best duteous advice to your Majesty. I know that it 
was prepared to be sent in this weapon, but I expected another 
messenger.” 

“ By my faith, fair one/’ thought Roland, “ and if you knew 
not that I had such a secret missive about me, I was yet more 
ignorant.” 

The Queen cast her eye upon the scroll, and remained a few 
minutes wrapped in deep thought. “ Sir Robert Melville,” she 
at length said, “ this scroll advises me to submit myself to neces- 
sity, and to subscribe the deeds these hard men have brought 
with them, as one who gives way to the natural fear inspired by 
the threats of rebels and murderers. You, Sir Robert, are a wise 
man, and Seyton is both sagacious and brave. Neither, I think, 
would mislead me in this matter.” 

“ Madam,” said Melville, “ if I have not the strength of body 
of the Lord Herries, or Seyton, I will yield to neither in zeal for 
your Majesty’s service. I cannot fight for you like these lords, 
but neither of them is more willing to die for your service.” 

“ I believe it, my old and faithful counselor,” said the Queen, 
“ and believe me, Melville, I did thee but a moment’s injustice. 
Read what my Lord Seyton hath written to us, and give us thy 
best counsel.” 

He glanced over the parchment, and instantly replied, “ Oh, 
1 Tried ; of proved merit. 


THE ABBOT. 


2 99 

my dear and royal mistress, only treason itself could give you 
other advice than Lord Seyton has here expressed. He, Her- 
ries, Huntley, the English ambassador Throgmorton, and others, 
your friends, are all alike of opinion that whatever deeds or in- 
struments you execute within these walls, must lose all force and 
effect, as extorted from, your Grace by duresse , 1 by sufferance of 
present evil, and fear of men, and harm to ensue on your refusal. 
Yield, therefore, to the tide, and be assured that in subscribing 
what parchments they present to you, you bind yourself to noth- 
ing, since your act of signature wants that which alone can make 
it valid, — the free will of the granter.” 

“ Ay, so says my Lord Seyton,” replied Mary ; “ yet, methinks, 
for the daughter of so long a line of sovereigns to resign her 
birthright because rebels press upon her with threats, argues little 
of royalty, and will read ill for the fame of Mary in future 
chronicles. Tush ! Sir Robert Melville, the traitors may use 
black threats and bold words, but they will not dare to put their 
hands forth on our person.” 

“Alas! madam, they have already dared so far and incurred 
such peril by the lengths which they have gone, that they are 
but one step from the worst and uttermost.” 
m “Surely,” said the Queen, her fears again predominating, 
“ Scottish nobles would not lend themselves to assassinate a help- 
less woman ? ” 

“ Bethink you, madam,” he replied, “ what horrid spectacles 
have been seen in our day ; and what act is so dark that some 
Scottish hand has not been found to dare it? Lord Lindesay, 
besides his natural sullenness and hardness of temper, is the near 
kinsman of Henry Darnley, and Ruthven has his own deep and 
dangerous plans. The Council, besides, speak of proofs, by writ 
and word, of a casket 2 with letters — of I know not what.” 

1 Force or threat. 

2 A casket belonging to Bothwell, in which were found letters from Mary, 
thought by many to be genuine, admitting her complicity in the murder of 
Darnley, and in her own capture by Bothwell (see Introduction). 


3 °° 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Ah ! good Melville,” answered the Queen, “ were I as sure 
of the evenhanded integrity of my judges, as of my own inno- 
cence — and yet ” — 

“ Oh, pause, madam,” said Melville ; “ even innocence must 
sometimes for a season stoop to injurious blame. Besides, you 
are here ” — 

He looked around and paused. 

“ Speak out, Melville,” said the Queen ; “ never one ap- 
proached my person who wished to work me evil ; and even this 
poor page, whom I have to-day seen for the first time in my life, 
I can trust safely with your communication.” 

“Nay, madam,” answered Melville, “in such emergence, and 
he being the bearer of Lord Seyton’s message, I will venture to 
say, before him and these fair ladies, whose truth and fidelity I 
dispute not, — I say I will venture to say that there are other 
modes besides that of open trial, by which deposed sovereigns 
often die ; and that, as Machiavel 1 saith, there is but one step 
betwixt a king’s prison and his grave.” 

“ Oh, were it but swift and easy for the body,” said the un- 
fortunate Princess, “ were it but a safe and happy change for the 
soul, the woman lives not that would take the step so soon as I. 
But, alas ! Melville, when we think of death, a thousand sins* 
which we have trod as worms beneath our feet, rise up against 
us as flaming serpents. Most injuriously do they accuse me of 
aiding Darnley’s death; yet, Blessed Lady! I afforded too open 
occasion for the suspicion ; I espoused Bothwell.” 

“ Think not of that now, madam,” said Melville, “ think rather 
of the immediate mode of saving yourself and son. Comply 
with the present unreasonable demands, and trust that better 
times will shortly arrive.” 

“ Madam,” said Roland Graeme, “ if it pleases you that I 

1 Niccol6 Machiavelli (1469-1527) was secretary to the Council of the 
Florentine Republic, 1498-1512. His treatise, II Principe (The Prince), 
treating of the system of craft and intrigue by which a ruler could gain abso- 
lute power, has made his name a synonym for unscrupulous policy. 


THE ABBOT. 


3 QI 


should do so, I will presently swim through the lake, if they 
refuse me other conveyance to the shore; I will go to the 
courts successively of England, France, and Spain, and will show 
you have subscribed these vile instruments from no stronger im- 
pulse than the fear of death, and I will do battle against them 
that say otherwise.” 

The Queen turned her round, and with one of those sweet 
smiles which, during the era of life’s romance, overpay every risk, 
held her hand towards Roland, but without speaking a word. 
He kneeled reverently, and kissed it, and Melville again resumed 
his plea. 

“ Madam,” he said, “ time presses, and you must not let those 
boats, which I see they are even now preparing, put forth on the 
lake. Here are enough of witnesses, — your ladies, this bold 
youth, myself, when it can serve your cause effectually, for I 
would not hastily stand committed in this matter; but even 
without me, here is evidence enough to show that you have 
yielded to the demands of the Council through force and fear, 
but from no sincere and unconstrained assent. Their boats are 
already manned for their return — oh ! permit your old servant 
to recall them.” 

“ Melville,” said the Queen, “ thou art an ancient courtier. 
When didst thou ever know a sovereign prince recall to his 
presence subjects who had parted from him on such terms as 
those on which these envoys of the Council left us, and who yet 
were recalled without submission or apology ? Let it cost me 
both life and crown, I will not again command them to my 
presence.” 

“ Alas ! madam, that empty form should make a barrier! If 
I rightly understand, you are not unwilling to listen to real and 
advantageous counsel — but your scruple is saved. I hear them 
returning to ask your final resolution. Oh ! take the advice of 
the noble Seyton, and you may once more command those who 
now usurp a triumph over you. But, hush! I hear them in the 
vestibule.” 


3° 2 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


As he concluded speaking, George Douglas opened the door 
of the apartment, and marshaled in the two noble envoys. 

“We come, madam,” said the Lord Ruthven, “to request 
your answer to the proposal of the Council.” 

“ Your final answer,” said Lord Lindesay ; “ for with a refusal 
you must couple the certainty that you have precipitated your 
fate, and renounced the last opportunity of making peace with 
God, and insuring your longer abode in the world.” 

“ My lords,” said Mary, with inexpressible grace and dignity, 
“ the evils we cannot resist we must submit to. I will subscribe 
these parchments with such liberty of choice as my condition 
permits me. Were I on yonder shore, with a fleet jennet and ten 
good and loyal knights around me, I would subscribe my sen- 
tence of eternal condemnation as soon as the resignation of my 
throne. But here, in the Castle of Lochleven, with deep water 
around me, and you, my lords, beside me, I have no freedom of 
choice. — Give me the pen, Melville, and bear witness to what I 
do, and why I do it.” 

“ It is our hope your Grace will not suppose yourself com- 
pelled by any apprehensions from us,” said the Lord Ruthven, 
“ to execute what must be your own voluntary deed.” 

The Queen had already stooped towards the table, and 
placed the parchment before her, with the pen between her 
fingers, ready for the important act of signature; but when 
Lord Ruthven had done speaking, she looked up, stopped 
short, and threw down the pen. “ If,” she said, “ I am ex- 
pected to declare I give away my crown of free will, or other- 
wise than because I am compelled to renounce it by the threat 
of worse evils to myself and my subjects, I will not put my 
name to such an untruth, — not to gain full possession of Eng- 
land, France, and Scotland, all once my own, in possession, or 
by right.” 

“ Beware, madam,” said Lindesay, and, snatching hold of the 
Queen’s arm with his own gauntleted hand, he pressed it, in the 
rudeness of his passion, more closely, perhaps, than he was him- 


THE ABBOT. 


3°3 


self aware of, “ beware how you contend with those who are the 
stronger, and have the mastery of your fate ! ” 

He held his grasp on her arm, bending his eyes on her with a 
stern and intimidating look, till both Ruthven and Melville cried 
shame ; and Douglas, who had hitherto remained in a state of 
apparent apathy, had made a stride from the door, as if to inter- 
fere. The rude Baron then quitted his hold, disguising the con- 
fusion which he really felt at having indulged his passion to such 
extent, under a sullen and contemptuous smile. 

The Queen immediately began, with an expression of pain, to 
bare the arm which he had grasped, by drawing up the sleeve of 
her gown, and it appeared that his gripe had left the purple 
marks of his iron fingers upon her flesh. “ My lord,” she said, 
“as a knight and gentleman, you might have spared my frail 
arm so severe a proof that you have the greater strength on your 
side, and are resolved to use it. But I thank you for it ; it is 
the most decisive token of the terms on which this day’s business 
is to rest. — I draw you to witness, both lords and ladies,” she 
said, showing the marks of the grasp on her arm, “that I sub- 
scribe these instruments in obedience to the sign manual 1 of 
my Lord of Lindesay, which you may see imprinted on mine 
arm .” 2 

Lindesay would have spoken, but was restrained by his col- 
league Ruthven, who said to him, “ Peace, my lord. Let the 
Lady Mary of Scotland ascribe her signature to what she will, it 
is our business to procure it, and carry it to the Council. Should 
there be debate hereafter on the manner in which it was ad- 
hibited , 3 there will be time enough for it.” 

Lindesay was silent accordingly, only muttering within his 

1 “Sign manual,” i.e., an official signature made by the hand of a sover- 
eign or magistrate; from the Latin, mantis ("a hand”). 

2 The details of the abdication are, as here given, imaginary, but the out- 
line of the events is historical. The concealed letters were brought by Sir 
Robert Melville. The deeds were signed July 24, 1567. 

3 Applied; administered. 


304 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


beard, “ I meant not to hurt her ; but I think women’s flesh be 
as tender as new-fallen snow.” 

The Queen meanwhile subscribed the rolls of parchment with 
a hasty indifference, as if they had been matters of slight con- 
sequence, or of mere formality. When she had performed this 
painful task, she arose, and, having courtesied to the lords, was 
about to withdraw to her chamber. Ruthven and Sir Robert 
Melville made, the first a formal reverence, the second an 
obeisance in which his desire to acknowledge his sympathy was 
obviously checked by the fear of appearing in the eyes of his 
colleagues too partial to his former mistress. But Lindesay 
stood motionless, even when they were preparing to withdraw. 
At length, as if moved by a sudden impulse, he walked round the 
table which had hitherto been betwixt them and the Queen, 
kneeled on one knee, took her hand, kissed it, let it fall, and 
arose. " Lady,” he said, “ thou art a noble creature, even though 
thou hast abused God’s choicest gifts. I pay that devotion to 
thy manliness of spirit which I would not have paid to the 
power thou hast long undeservedly wielded. I kneel to Mary 
Stuart, not to the Queen.” 

“ The Queen and Mary Stuart pity thee alike, Lindesay,” said 
Mary ; “ alike they pity, and they forgive thee. An honored 
soldier hadst thou been by a king’s side ; leagued with rebels, 
what art thou but a good blade in the hands of a ruffian? — 
Farewell, my Lord Ruthven, the smoother, but the deeper traitor. 
— Farewell, Melville. Mayest thou find masters that can under- 
stand state policy better, and have the means to reward it more 
richly, than Mary Stuart. — Farewell, George of Douglas; make 
your respected grandam comprehend that we would be alone for 
the remainder of the day. God wot we have need to collect 
our thoughts.” 

All bowed and withdrew ; but scarce had they entered the 
vestibule, ere Ruthven and Lindesay were at variance. " Chide 
not with me, Ruthven,” Lindesay was heard to say, in answer 
to something more indistinctly urged by his colleague, “ chide 


THE ABBOT. 


305 


not with me, for I will not brook it ! You put the hangman’s 
office on me in this matter, and even the very hangman hath 
leave to ask some pardon of those on whom he does his office . 1 
I would I had as deep cause to be this lady’s friend as I have 
to be her enemy ; thou shouldst see if I spared limb and life in 
her quarrel.” 

“ Thou art a sweet minion,” said Ruthven, “ to fight a lady’s 
quarrel, and all for a brent 2 brow and a tear in the eye ! Such 
toys have been out of thy thoughts this many a year.” 

“ Do m e right, Ruthven,” said Lindesay. “ You are like a 
polished corselet of steel ; it shines more gaudily, but it is not a 
whit softer, — nay, it is five times harder than a Glasgow 3 breast- 
plate of hammered iron. Enough. We know each other.” 

They descended the stairs, were heard to summon their boats, 
and the Queen signed to Roland Graeme to retire to the vestibule, 
and leave her with her female attendants. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


RECESS in the vestibule was enlightened by a small win- 



il dow, at which Roland Graeme stationed himself to mark the 
departure of the lords. He could see their followers mustering 
on horseback under their respective banners, the western sun 
glancing on their corselets and steel caps, as they moved to and 
fro, mounted or dismounted, at intervals. On the narrow space 
betwixt the castle and the water, the Lords Ruthven and Linde- 
say were already moving slowly to their boats, accompanied by 
the Lady of Lochleven, her grandson, and their principal attend- 
ants. They took a ceremonious leave of each other, as Roland 
could discern by their gestures, and the boats put off from their 

1 See Shakespeare’s As You Like It, act iii., sc. 5. 2 Smooth. 

3 Glasgow, on the Clyde, has always been a center of iron manufacture. 


20 


SI R WALTER SCOTT 


3°6 

landing place; the boatmen stretched to their oars, and they 
speedily diminished upon the eye of the idle gazer, who had no 
better employment than to watch their motions. Such seemed 
also the occupation of the Lady Lochleven and George Douglas, 
who, returning from the landing place, looked frequently back to 
the boats, and at length stopped, as if to observe their progress, 
under the window at which Roland Graeme was stationed. As 
they gazed on the lake, he could hear the lady distinctly say, 
“ And she has bent her mind to save her life at the expense of 
her kingdom ? ” 

“ Her life, madam ! ” replied her son ; “ I know not who 
would dare to attempt it in the castle of my father. Had I 
dreamt that it was with such purpose that Lindesay insisted on 
bringing his followers hither, neither he nor they should have 
passed the iron gate of Lochleven Castle.” 

“ I speak not of private slaughter, my son, but of open trial, 
condemnation, and execution ; for with such she has been 
threatened, and to such threats she has given way. Had she 
not more of the false Guisian blood than of the royal race of 
Scotland in her veins, she had bidden them defiance to their 
teeth. But it is all of the same complexion , 1 and meanness is the 
natural companion of profligacy. I am discharged, forsooth, 
from intruding on her gracious presence this evening. Go thou, 
my son, and render the usual service of the meal to this un- 
queened Queen.” 

“ So please you, lady mother,” said Douglas, “ I care not 
greatly to approach her presence.” 

“ Thou art right, my son ; and therefore I trust thy prudence, 
even because I have noted thy caution. She is like an isle on 
the ocean, surrounded with shelves 2 and quicksands ; its verdure 
fair and inviting to the eye, but the wreck of many a goodly 
vessel which hath approached it too rashly. But for thee, my 
son, I fear naught ; and we may not, with our honor, suffer her 

1 Color or kind. 

2 Dangerous shelving rocks or shoals lying under water. 


THE ABBOT. 


3 ° 7 

to eat without the attendance of one of us. She may die by the 
judgment of Heaven, or the fiend may have power over her in 
her despair ; and then we would be touched in honor to show 
that in our house, and at our table, she had all fair play and 
fitting usage.” 

Here Roland was interrupted by a smart tap on the shoulders, 
reminding him sharply of Adam Woodcock’s adventure of the 
preceding evening. He turned round, almost expecting to see 
the page of St. Michael’s hostelry. He saw, indeed, Catherine 
Seyton ; but she was in female attire, differing, no doubt, a great 
deal in shape and materials from that which she had worn when 
they first met, and becoming her birth as the daughter of a great 
baron, and her rank as the attendant on a princess. “ So, fair 
page,” said she, “ eavesdropping is one of your page-like quali- 
ties, I presume.” 

“Fair sister,” answered Roland in the same tone, “if some 
friends of mine be as well acquainted with the rest of our 
mystery as they are with the arts of swearing, swaggering, and 
switching, they need ask no page in Christendom for farther 
insight into his vocation.” 

“ Unless that pretty speech infer that you have yourself had 
the discipline of the switch since we last met, the probability 
whereof I nothing doubt, I profess, fair page, I am at a loss to 
conjecture your meaning. But there is no time to debate it 
now ; they come with the evening meal. Be pleased, Sir Page, 
to do your duty.” 

Four servants entered bearing dishes, preceded by the same 
stern old steward whom Roland had already seen, and followed 
by George Douglas, already mentioned as the grandson of the 
Lady of Lochleven, and who, acting as seneschal, represented, 
upon this occasion, his father, the lord of the castle. He 
entered with his arms folded on his bosom, and his looks bent 
on the ground. With the assistance of Roland Graeme, a table 
was suitably covered in the next, or middle, apartment, on which 
the domestics placed their burdens with great reverence, the 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


3°8 

steward and Douglas bending low when they had seen the table 
properly adorned, as if their royal prisoner had sat at the board 
in question. The door opened, and Douglas, raising his eyes 
hastily, cast them again on the earth when he perceived it was 
only the Lady Mary Fleming who entered. 

“ Her Grace,” she said, “ will not eat to-night.” 

“ Let us hope she may be otherwise persuaded,” said Doug- 
las ; “ meanwhile, madam, please to see our duty performed.” 

A servant presented bread and salt on a silver plate, and the 
old steward carved for Douglas a small morsel in succession from 
each of the dishes presented, which he tasted, as was then the 
custom at the tables of princes, to which death was often sus- 
pected to find its way in the disguise of food. 

“ The Queen will not then come forth to-night ? ” said Douglas. 

“ She has so determined,” replied the lady. 

“ Our farther attendance, then, is unnecessary. We leave you 
to your supper, fair ladies, and wish you good-even.” 

He retired slowly as he came, and with the same air of deep 
dejection, and was followed by the attendants belonging to the 
castle. The two ladies sat down to their meal, and Roland 
Graeme, with ready alacrity, prepared to wait upon them. Cath- 
erine Seyton whispered to her companion, who replied with the 
question, spoken in a low tone, but looking at the page, “ Is he 
of gentle blood and well nurtured ? ” 

The answer which she received seemed satisfactory, for she 
said to Roland, “ Sit down, young gentleman, and eat with your 
sisters in captivity.” 

“ Permit me rather to perform my duty in attending them,” 
said Roland, anxious to show he was possessed of the high tone 
of deference prescribed by the rules of chivalry towards the fair 
sex, and especially to dames and maidens of quality. 

“You will find, Sir Page,” said Catherine, “you will have 
little time allowed you for your meal ; waste it not in ceremony, 
or ye may rue your politeness ere to-morrow morning.” 

“ Your speech is too free, maiden,” said the elder lady ; “ the 


THE ABBOT. 


309 


modesty of the youth may teach you more fitting fashions towards 
one whom to-day you have seen for the first time.” 

Catherine Seyton cast down her eyes, but not till she had 
given a single glance of inexpressible archness towards Roland, 
whom her more grave companion now addressed in a tone of 
protection. 

“ Regard her not, young gentleman ; she knows little of the 
world, save the forms of a country nunnery. Take thy place at 
the board-end , 1 and refresh thyself after thy journey.” 

Roland Graeme obeyed willingly, as it was the first food he 
had that day tasted ; for Lindesay and his followers seemed re- 
gardless of human wants. Yet, notwithstanding the sharpness 
of his appetite, a natural gallantry of disposition, the desire of 
showing himself a well-nurtured gentleman in all courtesies 
towards the fair sex, and, for aught I know, the pleasure of 
assisting Catherine Seyton, kept his attention awake, during the 
meal, to all those nameless acts of duty and service which gal- 
lants of that age were accustomed to render. He carved with 
neatness and decorum, and selected duly whatever was most 
delicate to place before the ladies. Ere they could form a wish, 
he sprang from the table, ready to comply with it ; poured wine, 
tempered it with water, removed and exchanged trenchers, and 
performed the whole honors of the table, with an air at once of 
cheerful diligence, profound respect, and graceful promptitude. 

When he observed that they had finished eating, he hastened 
to offer to the elder lady the silver ewer, basin, and napkin, with 
the ceremony and gravity which he would have used towards 
Mary herself. He next, with the same decorum, having supplied 
the basin with fair water, presented it to Catherine Seyton. 
Apparently, she was determined to disturb his self-possession, if 
possible ; for, while in the act of bathing her hands, she con- 
trived, as it were by accident, to flirt some drops of water upon 
the face of the assiduous assistant. But if such was her mis- 
chievous purpose, she was completely disappointed ; for Roland 
1 End of the table. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


3 IQ 

Graeme, internally piquing himself on his self-command, neither 
laughed nor was discomposed ; and all that the maiden gained 
by her frolic was a severe rebuke from her companion, taxing 
her with maladdress 1 and indecorum. Catherine replied not, 
but sat pouting, something in the humor of a spoilt child, who 
watches the opportunity of wreaking upon some one or other its 
resentment for a deserved reprimand. 

The Lady Mary Fleming, in the mean while, was naturally 
well pleased with the exact and reverent observance of the page, 
and said to Catherine, after a favorable glance at Roland 
Grseme, “ You might well say, Catherine, our companion in cap- 
tivity was well born and gently nurtured. I would not make 
him vain by my praise, but his services enable us to dispense 
with those which George Douglas condescends not to afford us 
save when the Queen is herself in presence.” 

“Umph! I think hardly,” answered Catherine. ‘/George 
Douglas is one of the most handsome gallants in Scotland, and 
’tis pleasure to see him even still, when the gloom of Lochleven 
Castle has shed the same melancholy over him that it has done 
over everything else. When he was at Holyrood, who would 
have said the young, sprightly George Douglas would have been 
contented to play the locksman 2 here in Lochleven, with no 
gayer amusement than that of turning the key on two or three 
helpless women ? A strange office for a Knight of the Bleeding 
Heart . 3 Why does he not leave it to his father or his brothers ? ” 

“ Perhaps, like us, he has no choice,” answered the Lady 
Fleming. “ But, Catherine, thou hast used thy brief space at 
court well, to remember what George Douglas was then.” 

1 Lack of adroitness. 2 Jailer. 

3 The cognizance of the House of Douglas was a bleeding heart, in re- 
membrance of the heart of the great king, Robert Bruce (see Note I, p. 330), 
left to the good Sir James of Douglas to be buried in Jerusalem. The good 

Sir James was killed in Spain, fighting the Moors, on his way-to the Holy 
Land; and the heart of Bruce was brought back and buried in Melrose 
Abbey. 


THE ABBOT. 


3*1 

“ I used mine eyes, which I Suppose was what I was designed 
to do, and they were worth using there. When I was at the 
nunnery, they were very useless appurtenances ; and now I am 
at Lochleven, they are good for nothing, save to look over that 
eternal work of embroidery.” 

“ You speak thus when you have been but a few brief hours 
amongst us ! Was this the maiden who would live and die in a 
dungeon, might she but have permission to wait on her gracious 
Queen ? ” 

“ Nay, if you chide in earnest, my jest is ended,” said Cather- 
ine Seyton. “ I would not yield in attachment to my poor god- 
mother, to the gravest dame that ever had wise saws upon her 
tongue, and a double-starched ruff around her throat ; you know 
I would not, Dame Mary Fleming, and it is putting shame on 
me to say otherwise.” 

“ She will challenge the other court lady,” thought Roland 
Graeme ; “ she will to a certainty fling down her glove, and if 
Dame Mary Fleming hath but the soul to lift it , 1 we may have 
a combat in the lists! ” 2 But the answer of Lady Mary Fleming 
was such as turns away wrath. 

“Thou art a good child,” she said, “my Catherine, and a 
faithful ; but Heaven pity him who shall have one day a crea- 
ture so beautiful to delight him, and a thing so mischievous to 
torment him. Thou art fit to drive twenty husbands stark mad.” 

“ Nay,” said Catherine, resuming the full career of her careless 
good humor, “ he must be half-witted beforehand that gives me 
such an opportunity. But I am glad you are not angry with me 
in sincerity,” casting herself, as she spoke, into the arms of her 
friend, and continuing, with a tone of apologetic fondness, while 
she kissed her on either side of the face ; “ you know, my dear 
Fleming, that I have to contend both with my father’s lofty 

1 In chivalry, throwing down a glove signified defiance ; lifting it, signi- 
fied acceptance of the challenge. 

2 In a tournament, the barriers by which the space for the combat was 
inclosed. 


312 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


pride, and with my mother’s high- spirit, God bless them ! They 
have left me these good qualities, having small portion to give 
besides, as times go, — and so I am willful and saucy; but let 
me remain only a week in this castle, and oh, my dear Fleming, 
my spirit will be as chastised and as humble as thine own.” 

Dame Mary Fleming’s sense of dignity, and love of form, 
could not resist this affectionate appeal. She kissed Catherine 
Seyton in her turn, affectionately ; while, answering the last 
part of her speech, she said, “ Now Our Lady forbid, dear Cath- 
erine, that you should lose aught that is beseeming of what 
becomes so well your light heart and lively humor. Keep but 
your sharp wit on this side of madness, and it cannot but be a 
blessing to us. But let me go, mad wench ; I hear her Grace 
touch her silver call.” And, extricating herself from Catherine’s 
grasp, she went towards the door of Queen Mary’s apartment, 
from which was heard the low tone of a silver whistle, which, 
now only used by the boatswains in the navy, was then, for want 
of bells, the ordinary mode by which ladies, even of the very 
highest rank, summoned their domestics. When she had made 
two or three steps towards the door, however, she turned back, 
and advancing to the young couple whom she left together, 
she said, in a very serious, though a low, tone, “ I trust it is im- 
possible that we can, any of us, or in any circumstances, forget 
that, few as we are, we form the household of the Queen of 
Scotland ; and that, in her calamity, all boyish mirth and childish 
jesting can only serve to give a great triumph to her enemies, 
who have already found their account in objecting 1 to her the 
lightness of every idle folly that the young and the gay practiced 
in her court.” So saying, she left the apartment. 

Catherine Seyton seemed much struck with this remonstrance. 
She suffered herself to drop into the seat which she had quitted 
when she went to embrace Dame Mary Fleming, and for some 
time rested her brow upon her hands; while Roland Graeme 
looked at her earnestly, with a mixture of emotions which per- 
1 Imputing. 


THE ABBOT. 


3 l 3 


haps he himself could neither have analyzed nor explained. As 
she raised her face slowly from the posture to which a momen- 
! tary feeling of self -rebuke had depressed it, her eyes encountered 
those of Roland, and became gradually animated with their usual 
: spirit of malicious drollery, which not unnaturally excited a sim- 
ilar expression in those of the equally volatile page. They sat 
for the space of two minutes, each looking at the other with 
great seriousness on their features, and much mirth in their eyes, 
until at length Catherine was the first to break silence. 

“ May I pray you, fair sir,” she began very demurely, “ to 
tell me what you see in my face to arouse looks so extremely 
sagacious and knowing as those with which it is your wor- 
ship’s pleasure to honor me? It would seem as there were 
some wonderful confidence and intimacy betwixt us, fair sir, 
if one is to judge from your extremely cunning looks ; and so 
help me, Our Lady, as I never saw you but twice in my life 
before.” 

“ And where were those happy occasions,” said Roland, “ if I 
may be bold enough to ask the question ? ” 

“At the nunnery of St. Catherine’s,” said the damsel, “in 
the first instance ; and, in the second, during five minutes of a 
certain raid or foray which it was your pleasure to make into the 
lodging of my lord and father, Lord Seyton, from which, to my 
surprise, as probably to your own, you returned with a token of 
friendship and favor, instead of broken bones, which were the 
more probable reward of your intrusion, considering the prompt 
ire of the House of Seyton. I am deeply mortified,” she added 
ironically, “ that your recollection should require refreshment on 
a subject so important ; and that my memory should be stronger 
than yours on such an occasion, is truly humiliating.” 

“Your own memory is not so exactly correct, fair mistress,” 
answered the page, “seeing you have forgotten meeting the 
third in the hostelry of St. Michael’s, when it pleased you to 
lay your switch across the face of my comrade, in order, I war- 
rant, to show that, in the House of Seyton, neither the prompt ire 


3H 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


of its descendants, nor the use of the doublet and hose, are 
subject to Salique law , 1 or confined to the use of the males.” 

“ Fair sir,” answered Catherine, looking at him with great 
steadiness and some surprise, “ unless your fair wits have for- 
saken you, I am at a loss what to conjecture of your meaning.” 

“ By my troth, fair mistress,” answered Roland, “ and were I 
as wise a warlock 2 as Michael Scott , 3 I could scarce riddle the 
dream you read me. Did I not see you last night in the hostelry 
of St. Michael’s ? Did you not bring me this sword, with com- 
mand not to draw it save at the command of my native and 
rightful Sovereign ? And have I not done as you required me ? 
Or is the sword a piece of lath, my word a bulrush, my memory 
a dream, and my eyes good for naught, — espials which corbies 4 
might pick out of my head ? ” 

“ And if your eyes serve you not more truly on other occasions 
than in your vision of St. Michael,” said Catherine, “ I know not, 
the pain apart, that the corbies would do you any great injury 
in the deprivation. But hark, the bell — hush, for God’s sake, 
we are interrupted ” — 

The damsel was right ; for no sooner had the dull toll of the 
castle bell begun to resound through the vaulted apartment, than 
the door of the vestibule flew open, and the steward, with his 
severe countenance, his gold chain, and his white rod, entered 
the apartment, followed by the same train of domestics who had 
placed the dinner on the table, and who now, with the same 
ceremonious formality, began to remove it. 

The steward remained motionless as some old picture, while 
the domestics did their office ; and when it was accomplished, 

1 A law of the Salian Franks, which excluded women from the inheritance 
of certain lands. In the fourteenth century this law was applied to the 
royal succession of France. 

2 A person in league with the Devil ; a wizard ; from the Anglo-Saxon 
waer-loga (“a covenant-breaker ”). 

3 A Scottish astrologer and alchemist of the early thirteenth century, who 

figures in legend as a powerful magician. 4 Ravens. 


THE ABBOT. 


315 

everything removed from the table, and the board itself taken 
from its tressels 1 and disposed against the wall, he said aloud, 
without addressing any one in particular, and somewhat in the 
tone of a herald reading a proclamation, “ My noble lady, Dame 
Margaret Erskine, by marriage Douglas, lets the Lady Mary of 
Scotland and her attendants to wit 2 that a servant of the true 
Evangel, her reverend chaplain, will to-night, as usual, expound, 
lecture, and catechise, according to the forms of the congrega- 
tion of Gospelers.” 3 

“ Hark you, my friend Mr. Dryfesdale,” said Catherine, “ I 
understand this announcement is a nightly form of yours. Now, 
I pray you to remark, that the Lady Fleming and I — for I 
trust your insolent invitation concerns us only — have chosen 
St. Peter’s pathway to heaven, so I see no one whom your godly 
exhortation, catechise, or lecture, can benefit, excepting this poor 
page, who, being in Satan’s hand as well as yourself, had better 
worship with you than remain to cumber our better advised de- 
votions.” 

The page was well-nigh giving a round denial to the assertions 
which this speech implied, when, remembering what had passed 
betwixt him and the Regent, and seeing Catherine’s finger raised 
in a monitory fashion, he felt himself, as on former occasions at 
the Castle of Avenel, obliged to submit to the task of dissimula- 
tion, and followed Dryfesdale down to the castle chapel, where 
he assisted in the devotions of the evening. 

The chaplain was named Elias Henderson. He was a man 
in the prime of life, and possessed of good natural parts, care- 
fully improved by the best education which those times afforded. 
To these qualities were added a faculty of close and terse 
reasoning ; and, at intervals, a flow of happy illustration and 
natural eloquence. The religious faith of Roland Graeme, as we 

1 Trestles ; supports, on which boards were laid to form the table. 

2 Know. 

3 A name given to the reformers because of the stress laid by them upon 
the letter of the Gospel. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


have already had opportunity to observe, rested on no secure 
basis, but was entertained rather in obedience to his grand- 
mother’s behests, and his secret desire to contradict the chaplain 
of Avenel Castle, than from any fixed or steady reliance which 
he placed on the Romish creed. His ideas had been of late 
considerably enlarged by the scenes he had passed through ; and 
feeling that there was shame in not understanding something of 
those political disputes betwixt the professors of the ancient and 
of the reformed faith, he listened with more attention than it had 
hitherto been in his nature to yield on such occasions, to an 
animated discussion of some of the principal points of difference 
betwixt the churches. So passed away the first day in the 
Castle of Lochleven; and those which followed it were, for 
some time, of a very monotonous and uniform tenor. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


HE course of life to which Mary and her little retinue were 



X doomed was in the last degree secluded and lonely, varied 
only as the weather permitted, or rendered impossible, the Queen’s 
usual walk in the garden or on the battlements. The greater 
part of the morning she wrought with her ladies at those pieces 
of needlework, many of which still remain proofs of her indefati- 
gable application. At such hours the page was permitted the 
freedom of the castle and islet ; nay, he was sometimes invited 
to attend George Douglas when he went a-sporting upon the 
lake or on its margin ; opportunities of diversion which were 
only clouded by the remarkable melancholy which always seemed 
to brood on that gentleman’s brow, and to mark his whole 
demeanor ; a sadness so profound, that Roland never observed 
him to smile, or to speak any word unconnected with the im- 
mediate object of their exercise. 


THE ABBOT. 


3 17 


I The most pleasant part of Roland’s day was the occasional 
space which he was permitted to pass in personal attendance 
on the Queen and her ladies, together with the regular dinner 
time, which he always spent with Dame Mary Fleming and 
| Catherine Seyton. At these periods, he had frequent occasion 
to admire the lively spirit and inventive imagination of the latter 
damsel, who was unwearied in her contrivances to amuse her 
' mistress, and to banish, for a time at least, the melancholy 
| which preyed on her bosom. She danced, she sung, she recited 
I tales of ancient and modern times, with that heartfelt exertion 
!i of talent of which the pleasure lies not in the vanity of display- 
i ing it to others, but in the enthusiastic consciousness that we 
possess it ourselves. And yet these high accomplishments were 
mixed with an air of rusticity and harebrained vivacity, which 
seemed rather to belong to some village maid, the coquette of 
! the ring around the Maypole, than to the high-bred descendant 
of an ancient baron. A touch of audacity, altogether short of 
effrontery, and far less approaching to vulgarity, gave, as it were, 
a wildness to all that she did ; and Mary, while defending her 
from some of the occasional censures of her grave companion, 
compared her to a trained singing bird escaped from a cage, 
which practices in all the luxuriance of freedom, and in full pos- 
session of the greenwood bough, the airs which it had learned 
during its earlier captivity. 

The moments which the page was permitted to pass in the 
presence of this fascinating creature, danced so rapidly away 
that, brief as they were, they compensated the weary dullness of 
all the rest of the day. The space of indulgence, however, was 
always brief, nor were any private interviews betwixt him and 
Catherine permitted, or even possible. Whether it were some 
special precaution respecting the Queen’s household, or whether 
it were her general ideas of propriety, Dame Fleming seemed 
particularly attentive to prevent the young people from holding 
any separate correspondence together, and bestowed, for Cath- 
erine’s sole benefit in this matter, the full stock of prudence 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


3i8 

and experience which she had acquired when mother 1 of the 
Queen’s maidens of honor, and by which she had gained their 
hearty hatred. Casual meetings, however, could not be pre- 
vented, unless Catherine had been more desirous of shunning, or 
Roland Graeme less anxious in watching for, them. A smile, a 
gibe, a sarcasm, disarmed of its severity by the arch look with 
which it was accompanied, was all that time permitted to pass 
between them on such occasions. But such passing interviews 
neither afforded means nor opportunity to renew the discussion 
of the circumstances attending their earlier acquaintance, nor to 
permit Roland to investigate more accurately the mysterious ap- 
parition of the page in the purple velvet cloak at the hostelry of 
St. Michael’s. 

The winter months slipped heavily away, and spring was 
already advanced, when Roland Graeme observed a gradual 
change in the manners of his fellow-prisoners. Having no 
business of his own to attend to, and being, like those of his age, 
education, and degree, sufficiently curious concerning what 
passed around, he began by degrees to suspect, and finally to 
be convinced, that there was something in agitation among his 
companions in captivity, to which they did not desire that he 
should be privy. Nay, he became almost certain that, by some 
means unintelligible to him, Queen Mary held correspondence 
beyond the walls and waters which surrounded her prison house, 
and that she nourished some secret hope of deliverance or escape. 
In the conversations betwixt her and her attendants, at which 
he was necessarily present, the Queen could not always avoid 
showing that she was acquainted with the events which were 
passing abroad in the world, and which he only heard through 
her report. He observed that she wrote more and worked less 
than had been her former custom, and that, as if desirous to lull 
suspicion asleep, she changed her manner towards the Lady 
Lochleven into one more gracious, and which seemed to express 
a resigned submission to her lot. “ They think I am blind,” he 

1 The chief of the ladies of honor was so called. 


THE ABBOT. 


3 1 9 


said to himself, “ and that I am unfit to be trusted because- 1 am 
so young, or it may be because I was sent hither by the Regent. 
Well! be it so; they may be glad to confide in me in the long 
run ; and Catherine Seyton, for as saucy as she is, may find me 
as safe a confidant as that sullen Douglas whom she is always 
running after. It may be they are angry with me for listening 
to Master Elias Henderson ; but it was their own fault for send- 
ing me there ; and if the man speaks truth and good sense, and 
preaches only the word of God, he is as likely to be right as 
either pope or councils.” 

It is probable that in this last conjecture Roland Graeme had 
hit upon the real cause why the ladies had not intrusted him 
with their councils. He had of late had several conferences 
with Henderson on the subject of religion, and had given him 
to understand that he stood in need of his instructions, although 
he had not thought there was either prudence or necessity for 
confessing that hitherto he had held the tenets of the Church of 
Rome. 

Elias Henderson, a keen propagator of the reformed faith, 
had sought the seclusion of Lochleven Castle with the express 
purpose and expectation of making converts from Rome amongst 
the domestics of the dethroned Queen, and confirming the faith 
of those who already held the Protestant doctrines. Perhaps 
his hopes soared a little higher, and he might nourish some ex- 
pectation of a proselyte more distinguished in the person of the 
deposed Queen. But the pertinacity with which she and her 
female attendants refused to see or listen to him, rendered such 
hope, if he nourished it, altogether abortive. 

The opportunity, therefore, of enlarging the religious informa- 
tion of Roland Graeme, and bringing him to a more due sense 
of his duties to Heaven, was hailed by the good man as a door 
opened by Providence for the salvation of a sinner. He dreamed 
not, indeed, that he was converting a Papist, but such was the 
ignorance which Roland displayed upon some material points 
of the reformed doctrine, that Master Henderson, while praising 


3 2 ° 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


his docility to the Lady Lochleven and her grandson, seldom 
failed to add that his venerable brother, Henry Warden, must be 
now decayed in strength and in mind, since he found a catechu- 
men of his flock so ill-grounded in the principles of his belief. 
For this, indeed, Roland Grseme thought it was unnecessary to 
assign the true reason, which was his having made it a point of 
honor to forget all that Henry Warden taught him, as soon as 
he was no longer compelled to read it over as a lesson acquired 
by rote. The lessons of his new instructor, if not more impress- 
ively delivered, were received by a more willing ear, and a more 
awakened understanding, and the solitude of Lochleven Cas- 
tle was favorable to graver thoughts than the page had hith- 
erto entertained. He wavered yet, indeed, as one who was 
almost persuaded ; but his attention to the chaplain’s instructions 
procured him favor even with the stern old dame herself ; and 
he was once or twice, but under great precaution, permitted to 
go to the neighboring village of Kinross, situated on the main- 
land, to execute some ordinary commission of his unfortunate 
mistress. 

For some time Roland Graeme might be considered as stand- 
ing neuter betwixt the two parties who inhabited the water- 
girdled tower of Lochleven ; but, as he rose in the opinion of 
the lady of the castle and her chaplain, he perceived, with great 
grief, that he lost ground in that of Mary and her female allies. 

He came gradually to be sensible that he was regarded as a 
spy upon their discourse, and that, instead of the ease with which 
they had formerly conversed in his presence, without suppress- 
ing any of the natural feelings of anger, of sorrow, or mirth, 
which the chance topic of the moment happened to call forth, 
their talk was now guardedly restricted to the most indifferent 
subjects, and a studied reserve observed even in their mode of 
treating these. This obvious want of confidence was accom- 
panied with a correspondent change in their personal demeanor 
towards the unfortunate page. The Queen, who had at first 
treated him with marked courtesy, now scarce spoke to him, save 


THE ABBOT. 


321 


to convey some necessary command for her service. The Lady 
Fleming restricted her notice to the most dry and distant expres- 
sions of civility, and Catherine Seyton became bitter in her 
pleasantries, and shy, cross, and pettish in any intercourse they 
had together. What was yet more provoking, he saw, or thought 
he saw, marks of intelligence betwixt George Douglas and the 
beautiful Catherine Seyton ; and, sharpened by jealousy, he 
wrought himself almost into a certainty that the looks which 
they exchanged conveyed matters of deep and serious import. 
“No wonder,” he thought, “if, courted by the son of a proud 
and powerful baron, she can no longer spare a word or look to 
the poor fortuneless page.” 

In a word, Roland Graeme’s situation became truly disagree- 
able, and his heart naturally enough rebelled against the injustice 
of this treatment, which deprived him of the only comfort which 
he had received for submitting to a confinement in other re- 
spects irksome. He accused Queen Mary and Catherine Seyton 
(for concerning the opinion of Dame Fleming he was indifferent) 
of inconsistency in being displeased with him on account of the 
natural consequences of an order of their own. Why did they 
send him to hear this overpowering preacher ? The Abbot 
Ambrosius, he recollected, understood the weakness of their 
Popish cause better, when he enjoined him to repeat within his 
own mind aves , and credos, and paters 1 all the while old Henry 
Warden preached or lectured, that so he might secure himself 
against lending even a momentary ear to his heretical doctrine. 
“ But I will endure this life no longer,” said he to himself, man- 
fully ; “ do they suppose I would betray my mistress, because 
I see cause to doubt of her religion ? That would be a serving, 
as they say, the Devil for God’s sake. I will forth into the world. 
He that serves fair ladies may at least expect kind looks and 
kind words ; and I bear not the mind of a gentleman to submit 
to cold treatment and suspicion, and a lifelong captivity besides. 


1 Paternosters. 


3 22 


SLR WALTER SCOTT. 


I will speak to George Douglas to-morrow when we go out 
a-fishing.” 

A sleepless night was spent in agitating this magnanimous 
resolution, and he arose in the morning not perfectly decided in 
his own mind whether he should abide by it or not. It happened 
that he was summoned by the Queen at an unusual hour, and 
just as he was about to go out with George Douglas. He went 
to attend her commands in the garden ; but as he had his angling 
rod in his hand, the circumstance announced his previous inten- 
tion, and the Queen, turning to the Lady Fleming, said, “ Cath- 
erine must devise some other amusement for us, ma bon?ie 
amie; 1 our discreet page has already made his party for the day’s 
pleasure.” 

“ I said from the beginning,” answered the Lady Fleming, 
“ that your Grace ought not to rely on being favored with the 
company of a youth who has so many Huguenot acquaintances, 
and has the means of amusing himself far more agreeably than 
with us.” 

“ I wish,” said Catherine, her animated features reddening 
with mortification, “ that his friends would sail away with him for 
good, and bring us in return a page (if such a thing can be 
found) faithful to his Queen and to his religion.” 

“One part of your wishes may be granted, madam,” said 
Roland Graeme, unable any longer to restrain his sense of the 
treatment which he received on all sides ; and he was about to 
add, “ I heartily wish you a companion in my room, if such can 
be found, who is capable of enduring women’s caprices without 
going distracted.” Luckily, he recollected the remorse which 
he had felt at having given way to the vivacity of his temper 
upon a similar occasion ; and, closing his lips, imprisoned, until 
it died on his tongue, a reproach so misbecoming the presence 
of majesty. 

“ Why do you remain there,” said the Queen, “ as if you were 
rooted to the parterre ? ” 


1 My good friend. 


THE ABBOT. 


323 


“ I but attend your Grace’s commands,” said the page. 

“ I have none to give you. Begone, sir ! ” 

As he left the garden to go to the boat, he distinctly heard 
Mary upbraid one of her attendants in these words : “ You see 
to what you have exposed us ! ” 

This brief scene at once determined Roland Graeme’s resolu- 
tion to quit the castle, if it were possible, and to impart his reso- 
lution to George Douglas without loss of time. That gentle- 
man, in his usual mood of silence, sat in the stern of the little 
skiff which they used on such occasions, trimming his fishing 
tackle, and from time to time indicating by signs to Graeme, who 
pulled the oars, which way he should row. When they were a 
furlong or two from the castle, Roland rested on the oars, and 
addressed his companion somewhat abruptly : “ I have some- 
thing of importance to say to you, under your pleasure, fair sir.” 

The pensive melancholy of Douglas’s countenance at once 
gave way to the eager, keen, and startled look of one who ex- 
pects to hear something of deep and alarming import. 

“ I am wearied to the very death of this Castle of Lochleven,” 
continued Roland. 

“ Is that all ? ” said Douglas. “ I know none of its inhabitants 
who are much better pleased with it.” 

“ Ay, but I am neither a native of the house, nor a prisoner 
in it, and so I may reasonably desire to leave it.” 

“ You might desire to quit it with equal reason,” answered 
Douglas, “ if you were both the one and the other.” 

“ But,” said Roland Grseme, “ I am not only tired of living in 
Lochleven Castle, but I am determined to quit it.” 

“ That is a resolution more easily taken than executed,” replied 
Douglas. 

“Not if yourself, sir, and your lady mother, choose to con- 
sent,” answered the page. 

“ You mistake the matter, Roland,” said Douglas ; “ you will 
find that the consent of two other persons is equally essential : 
that of the Lady Mary, your mistress, and that of my uncle, the 


3 2 4 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


Regent, who placed you about her person, and who will not 
think it proper that she should change her attendants so soon.” 

“ And must I then remain whether I will or no ? ” demanded 
the page, somewhat appalled at a view of the subject which 
would have occurred sooner to a person of more experience. 

“At least,” said George Douglas, “you must will to remain 
till my uncle consents to dismiss you.” 

“ Frankly,” said the page, “ and speaking to you as a gentle- 
man who is incapable of betraying me, I will confess that if I 
thought myself a prisoner here, neither walls nor water should 
confine me long.” 

“ Frankly,” said Douglas, “ I could not much blame you for 
the attempt ; yet, for all that, my father, or uncle, or the Earl , 1 
or any of my brothers, or in short any of the King’s lords into 
whose hands you fell, would in such a case hang you like a dog, 
or like a sentinel who deserts his post ; and I promise you that 
you will hardly escape them. But row towards St. Serf’s island ; 2 
there is a breeze from the west, and we shall have sport, keeping 
to windward of the isle, where the ripple is strongest. We will 
speak more of what you have mentioned when we have had an 
hour’s sport.” 

Their fishing was successful, though never did two anglers 
pursue even that silent and unsocial pleasure with less of verbal 
intercourse. 

When their time was expired, Douglas took the oars in his 
turn, and by his order Roland Graeme steered the boat, directing 
her course upon the landing place at the castle. But he also 
stopped in the midst of his course, and, looking around him, said 
to Graeme, '* There is a thing which I could mention to thee ; 
but it is so deep a secret, that even here, surrounded as we are 
by sea and sky, without the possibility of a listener, I cannot 
prevail on myself to speak it out.” 

1 The Earl of Morton. 

2 An islet in Loch Leven, on which formerly stood a priory of St. Serf 
(or Servanus), said to have been founded by a Pictish king. 


THE ABBOT. 325 

“ Better leave it unspoken, sir,” answered Roland Graeme, “ if 
you doubt the honor of him who alone can hear it.” 

“I doubt not your honor,” replied George Douglas; “but 
you are young, imprudent, and changeful.” 

“Young,” said Roland, “I am, and it may be, imprudent; 
but who hath informed you that I am changeful ? ” 

“ One that knows you, perhaps, better than you know your- 
self,” replied Douglas. 

“ I suppose you mean Catherine Seyton,” said the page, his 
heart rising as he spoke ; “ but she is herself fifty times more 
variable in her humor than the very water which we are floating 
upon.” 

“ My young acquaintance,” said Douglas, “ I pray you to 
remember that Catherine Seyton is a lady of blood and birth, 
and must not be lightly spoken of.” 

“ Master George of Douglas,” said Graeme, “ as that speech 
seemed to be made under the warrant of something like a threat, 
I pray you to observe that I value not the threat at the estima- 
tion of a fin of one of these dead trouts; and, moreover, I 
would have you to know that the champion who undertakes the 
defense of every lady of blood and birth, whom men accuse of 
change of faith and of fashion, is like to have enough of work 
on his hands.” 

“ Go to,” said the seneschal, but in a tone of good humor, 
“ thou art a foolish boy, unfit to deal with any matter more 
serious than the Casting of a net, or the flying of a hawk.” 

“ If your secret concern Catherine Seyton,” said the page, “ I 
care not for it, and so you may tell her if you will. I wot she 
can shape you opportunity to speak with her, as she has ere 
now.” 

The flush which passed over Douglas’s face made the page 
aware that he had alighted on a truth, when he was, in fact, 
speaking at random ; and the feeling that he had done so was 
like striking a dagger into his own heart. His companion, 
without farther answer, resumed the oars, and pulled lustily till 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


326 

they arrived at the island and the castle. The servants received 
the produce of their spoil, and the two fishers, turning from each 
other in silence, went each to his several apartment. 

Roland Graeme had spent about an hour in grumbling against 
Catherine Seyton, the Queen, the Regent, and the whole house 
of Lochleven, with George Douglas at the head of it, when the 
time approached that his duty called him to attend the meal of 
Queen Mary. As he arranged his dress for this purpose, he 
grudged the trouble which, on similar occasions, he used, with 
boyish foppery, to consider as one of the most important duties 
of his day ; and when he went to take his place behind the chair 
of the Queen, it was with an air of offended dignity which could 
not escape her observation, and probably appeared to her ridicu- 
lous enough, for she whispered something in French to her ladies, 
at which the Lady Fleming laughed, and Catherine appeared 
half diverted and half disconcerted. This pleasantry, of which 
the subject was concealed from him, the unfortunate page received, 
of course, as a new offense, and called an additional degree of 
sullen dignity into his mien, which might have exposed him to 
farther raillery, but that Mary appeared disposed to make allow- 
ance for, and compassionate, his feelings. 

With the peculiar tact and delicacy which no woman possessed 
in greater perfection, she began to soothe by degrees the vexed 
spirit of her magnanimous attendant. The excellence of the fish 
which he had taken in his expedition, the high flavor and beau- 
tiful red color of the trouts, which have long given distinction 
to the lake, led her first to express her thanks to her attendant 
for so agreeable an addition to her table, especially upon a jour 
de je{ine ; 1 and then brought on inquiries into the place where 
the fish had been taken, their size, their peculiarities, the times 
when they were in season, and a comparison between the Loch 
Leven trouts and those which are found in the lakes and rivers 
of the south of Scotland. The ill humor of Roland Graeme was 
never of an obstinate character. It rolled away like mist before 
1 A fast day. 


THE ABBOT. 


327 


the sun, and he was easily engaged in a keen and animated dis- 
sertation about Loch Leven trout, and sea trout, and river trout, 
and bull trout, and char, which never rise to a fly, and par, which 
some suppose infant salmon, and herlings, which frequent the 
Nith, and vendisses, which are only found in the Castle-loch of 
Lochmaben j 1 and he was hurrying on with the eager impetuosity 
and enthusiasm of a young sportsman, when he observed that 
the smile with which the Queen at. first listened to him died 
languidly away, and that, in spite of her efforts to suppress them, 
tears rose to her eyes. He stopped suddenly short, and, dis- 
tressed in his turn, asked if he had had the misfortune unwit- 
tingly to give displeasure to her Grace. 

“No, my poor boy,” replied the Queen; “but as you num- 
bered up the lakes and rivers of my kingdom, imagination cheated 
me, as it will do, and snatched me from these dreary walls, away 
to the romantic streams of Nithsdale, and the royal towers of 
Lochmaben. — O land which my fathers have so long ruled ! of 
the pleasures which you extend so freely, your Queen is now 
deprived, and the poorest beggar, who may wander free from 
one landward 2 town to another, would scorn to change fates 
with Mary of Scotland ! ” 

“Your Highness,” said the Lady Fleming, “will do well to 
withdraw.” 

“ Come with me, then, Fleming,” said the Queen ; “ I would 
not burden hearts so young as these are with the sight of my 
sorrows.” 

She accompanied these words with a look of melancholy com- 
passion towards Roland and Catherine, who were now left alone 
together in the apartment. 

The page found his situation not a little embarrassing ; for, as 
every reader has experienced who may have chanced to be in 
such a situation, it is extremely difficult to maintain the full dig- 

1 The strongest fortress on the Border. It was visited by Mary in 1565. 

2 Belonging to the country, as distinguished from the burghs, or walled 
towns. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


328 

nity of an offended person in the presence of a beautiful girl, 
whatever reason we may have for being angry with her. Cath- 
erine Seyton, on her part, sat still like a lingering ghost, which, 
conscious of the awe which its presence imposes, is charitably 
disposed to give the poor confused mortal whom it visits time to 
recover his senses, and comply with the grand rule of demonology 
by speaking first. But as Roland seemed in no hurry to avail 
himself of her condescension, she carried it a step farther, and 
herself opened the conversation. 

“ I pray you, fair sir, if it may be permitted me to disturb your 
august reverie by a question so simple, — what may have become 
of your rosary ? ” 

“ It is lost, madam, — lost some time since,” said Roland, partly 
embarrassed and partly indignant. 

“ And may I ask further, sir,” said Catherine, “ why you have 
not replaced it with another ? I have half a mind,” she said, 
taking from her pocket a string of ebony beads adorned with 
gold, “to bestow one upon you, to keep for my sake, just to 
remind you of former acquaintance.” 

There was a little tremulous accent in the tone with which 
those words were delivered, which at once put to flight Roland 
Graeme’s resentment, and brought him to Catherine’s side ; but 
she instantly resumed the bold and firm accent which was more 
familiar to her. “ I did not bid you,” she said, “ come and sit so 
close by me ; for the acquaintance that I spoke of has been stiff 
and cold, dead and buried, for this many a day.” 

“ Now Heaven forbid! ” said the page ; “it has only slept, and 
now that you desire it should awake, fair Catherine, believe me 
that a pledge of your returning favor” — 

“ Nay, nay,” said Catherine, withholding the rosary, towards 
which, as he spoke, he extended his hand, “ I have changed my 
mind, on better reflection. What should a heretic do with these 
holy beads, that have been blessed by the Father of the Church 
himself ? ” 

Roland winced grievously, for he saw plainly which way the 


THE ABBOT. 


3 2 9 


discourse was now likely to tend, and felt that it must at all 
events be embarrassing. “ Nay, but,” he said, “ it was as a token 
of your own regard that you offered them.” 

“ Ay, fair sir, but that regard attended the faithful subject, the 
loyal and pious Catholic, the individual who was so solemnly 
devoted at the same time with myself to the same grand duty ; 
which, you must now understand, was to serve the Church and 
Queen. To such a person, if you ever heard of him, was my 
regard due, and not to him who associates with heretics, and is 
about to become a renegado .” 1 

“ I should scarce believe, fair mistress,” said Roland indig- 
nantly, “ that the vane of your favor turned only to a Catholic 
wind, considering that it points so plainly to George Douglas, 
who, I think, is both kingsman 2 and Protestant.” 

“ Think better of George Douglas,” said Catherine, “ than to 
believe” — and then checking herself, as if she had spoken too 
much, she went on, “I assure you, fair Master Roland, that all 
who wish you well are sorry for you.” 

“Their number is very few, I believe,” answered Roland, 
“ and their sorrow, if they feel any, not deeper than ten minutes’ 
time will cure.” 

“ They are more numerous, and think more deeply concerning 
you, than you seem to be aware,” answered Catherine. “ But 
perhaps they think wrong. You are the best judge in your own 
affairs ; and if you prefer gold and church lands to honor and 
loyalty, and the faith of your fathers, why should you be ham- 
pered in conscience more than others ? ” 

“ May Heaven bear witness for me,” said Roland, “ that if I 
entertain any difference of opinion, — that is, if I nourish any 
doubts in point of religion, they have been adopted on the con- 
viction of my own mind, and the suggestion of my own con- 
science! ” 

1 A Spanish term for an apostate ; one who abandons his religious faith ; 
from the Latin, re-nego (“ to deny”). 

2 An adherent of the infant king, James VI. 


33 ° 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Ay, ay, your conscience — your conscience!” repeated she 
with satiric emphasis, “ your conscience is the scapegoat ; I war- 
rant it an able one. It will bear the burden of one of the best 
manors of the Abbey of St. Mary of Kennaquhair, lately forfeited 
to our noble Lord the King by the Abbot and community 
thereof, for the high crime of fidelity to their religious vows, and 
now to be granted by the High and Mighty Traitor, and so 
forth, James, Earl of Murray, to the good squire of dames, 
Roland Graeme, for his loyal and faithful service as under-espial, 
and deputy turnkey, for securing the person of his lawful Sov- 
ereign, Queen Mary.” 

“You misconstrue me cruelly,” said the page; “yes, Cather- 
ine, most cruelly. God knows I would protect this poor lady at 
the risk of my life, or with my life ; but, what can I do — what 
can any one do for her ? ” 

“ Much may be done ; enough may be done ; all may be 
done, if men will be but true and honorable, as Scottish men 
were in the days of Bruce 1 and Wallace . 2 O Roland, from 
what an enterprise you are now withdrawing your heart and 
hand, through mere fickleness and coldness of spirit! ” 

“ How can I withdraw,” said Roland, “ from an enterprise 
which has never been communicated to me ? Has the Queen, 

1 Robert Bruce, the most heroic of the Scottish kings (1294-1329), 
claimed the throne of Scotland through his great-grandmother, Isabel, niece 
of William the Lion. In 1306, having, in a fit of anger, stabbed the rival 
claimant, the Red Comyn, he assembled his vassals, and was crowned at 
Scone. He was forced to hide for a year from the double enmity of the 
friends of Comyn and of Edward I. of England, who had long claimed 
Scotland as a conquest ; but after Edward’s death he gradually reestablished 
Scotland’s independence (see Green’s History of the English People, Chap- 
ter IV., Sect. VI., and Burton’s History of Scotland). 

2 Sir William Wallace, the national hero of Scotland, defeated a large 
English army in 1297, and was elected guardian of the liberated realm of 
Scotland. In 1298, through the treachery of the Scottish nobles, he was de- 
feated by Edward I. at Falkirk, and betook himself to desultory warfare. In 
1305 he was taken, tried for treason in London, and cruelly put to death. 


THE ABBOT. 


33i 


or have you, or has any one, communicated with me upon any- 
thing for her service which I have refused ? Or have you not, 
all of you, held me at such distance from your counsels as if I 
were the most faithless spy since the days of Ganelon ? ” 1 

“ And who,” said Catherine Seyton, “ would trust the sworn 
friend, and pupil, and companion, of the heretic preacher Hen- 
derson ? Ay, a proper tutor you have chosen, instead of the 
excellent Ambrosius, who is now turned out of house and home- 
stead, if indeed he is not languishing in a dungeon, for with- 
standing the tyranny of Morton, to whose brother the temporal- 
ities of that noble house of God have been gifted away by the 
Regent.” 

“ Is it possible ? ” said the page ; “ and is the excellent Father 
Ambrose in such distress ? ” 

“ He would account the news of your falling away from the 
faith of your fathers,” answered Catherine, “ a worse mishap than 
aught that tyranny can inflict on himself.” 

“ But why,” said Roland, very much moved, “ why should you 
suppose that — that — that it is with me as you say ? ” 

“ Do you yourself deny it ? ” replied Catherine ; “ do you not 
admit that you have drunk the poison which you should have 
dashed from your lips ? Do you deny that it now ferments in 
your veins, if it has not altogether corrupted the springs of life ? 
Do you deny that you have your doubts, as you proudly term 
them, respecting what popes and councils have declared it un- 
lawful to doubt of ? Is not your faith wavering, if not over- 
thrown ? Does not the heretic preacher boast his conquest ? 
Does not the heretic woman of this prison house hold up thy 
example to others ? Do not the Queen and the Lady Fleming 
believe in thy falling away? And is there any except one — 
yes, I will speak it out, and think as lightly as you please of 
my good will — is there one except myself that holds even a 

1 Gan, Gano, or Ganelon, of Mayence, in the romances on the subject of 
Charlemagne and his paladins, is the traitor by whom the Christian cham- 
pions are betrayed. 


33 2 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


lingering hope that you may yet prove what we once all believed 
of you ? ” 

“ I know not,” said our poor page, much embarrassed by the 
view which was thus presented to him of the conduct he was 
expected to pursue, and by a person in whom he was not the 
less interested that so long a residence in Lochleven Castle, with 
no object so likely to attract his undivided attention, had taken 
place since they had first met, “ I know not what you expect of 
me, or fear from me. I was sent hither to attend Queen Mary, 
and to her I acknowledge the duty of a servant through life 
and death. If any one had expected service of another kind, I 
was not the party to render it. I neither avow nor disclaim 
the doctrines of the reformed church. Will you have the truth ? 
It seems to me that the profligacy of the Catholic clergy has 
brought this judgment on their own heads, and, for aught I 
know, it may be for their reformation. But, for betraying this 
unhappy Queen, God knows I am guiltless of the thought. Did 
I even believe worse of her than as her servant I wish, as her 
subject I dare, to do, I would not betray her. Far from it ; I 
would aid her in aught which could tend to a fair trial of her 
cause.” 

“Enough! enough!” answered Catherine, clasping her hands 
together ; “ then thou wilt not desert us if any means are pre- 
sented by which, placing our royal mistress at freedom, this 
case may be honestly tried betwixt her and her rebellious sub- 
jects ? ” 

“ Nay — but, fair Catherine,” replied the page, “ hear but what 
the Lord of Murray said when he sent me hither.” 

“ Hear but what the Devil said,” replied the maiden, “ rather 
than what a false subject, a false brother, a false counselor, a 
false friend, said ! A man raised from a petty pensioner on the 
Crown’s bounty, to be the counselor of majesty, and the prime 
distributer of the bounties of the State ; one with whom rank, 
fortune, title, consequence, and power, all grew up like a mush- 
room, by the mere warm good will of the sister, whom, in re- 


THE ABBOT. 


333 


quital, he hath mewed up in this place of melancholy seclusion ; 
whom, in farther requital, he has deposed, and whom, if he 
dared, he would murder!” 

“I think not so ill of the Earl of Murray,” said Roland 
Graeme ; “ and sooth to speak,” he added with a smile, “ it would 
require some bribe to make me embrace, with firm and desperate 
resolution, either one side or the other.” 

“ Nay, if that is all,” replied Catherine Seyton, in a tone of 
enthusiasm, “you shall be guerdoned 1 with prayers from op- 
pressed subjects, from dispossessed clergy, from insulted nobles ; 
with immortal praise by future ages, with eager gratitude by the 
present, with fame on earth, and with felicity in heaven! Your 
country will thank you, your Queen will be debtor to you, you 
will achieve at once the highest from the lowest degree in chiv- 
alry, all men will honor, all women will love, you ; and I, sworn 
with you so early to the accomplishment of Queen Mary’s free- 
dom, will — yes, I will, love you better than — ever sister loved 
brother! ” 

“Say on, say on! ” whispered Roland, kneeling on one knee, 
and taking her hand, which, in the warmth of exhortation, Cath- 
erine held towards him. 

“Nay,” said she, pausing, “I have already said too much, 
far too much, if I prevail not with you ; far too little if I do. 
But I prevail,” she continued, seeing that the countenance of the 
youth she addressed returned the enthusiasm of her own, “ I 
prevail ; or rather the good cause prevails through its own 
strength ; thus I devote thee to it.” And as she spoke, she 
approached her finger to the brow of the astonished youth, and 
without touching it, signed the cross over his forehead, stooped 
her face towards him, and seemed to kiss the empty space in 
which she had traced the symbol ; then, starting up, and extri- 
cating herself from his grasp, darted into the Queen’s apartment. 

Roland Graeme remained as the enthusiastic maiden had left 
him, kneeling on one knee, with breath withheld, and with eyes 
1 Rewarded. 


334 


S/R WALTER SCOTT 


fixed upon the space which the fairy form of Catherine Seyton 
had so lately occupied. If his thoughts were not of unmixed 
delight, they at least partook of that thrilling and intoxicating, 
though mingled, sense of pain and pleasure, the most overpower- 
ing which life offers in its blended cup. He rose and retired 
slowly ; and although the chaplain, Mr. Henderson, preached on 
that evening his best sermon against the errors of Popery, I 
would not engage that he was followed accurately through the 
train of his reasoning by the young proselyte, with a view to 
whose especial benefit he had handled the subject. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

I N a musing mood, Roland Grseme upon the ensuing morning 
betook himself to the battlements of the castle, as a spot 
where he might indulge the course of his thick-coming fancies 
with least chance of interruption. But his place of retirement 
was in the present case ill chosen, for he was presently joined by 
Mr. Elias Henderson. 

“I sought you, young man,” said the preacher, “having to 
speak of something which concerns you nearly.” 

The page had no pretense for avoiding the conference which 
the chaplain thus offered, though he felt that it might prove an 
embarrassing one. 

“ In teaching thee, as far as my feeble knowledge hath per- 
mitted, thy duty towards God,” said the chaplain, “ there are 
particulars of your duty towards man upon which I was unwilling 
long or much to insist. You are here in the service of a lady, 
honorable as touching her birth, deserving of all compassion as 
respects her misfortunes, and garnished with even but too many 
of those outward qualities which win men’s regard and affection. 
Have you ever considered your regard 1 to this Lady Mary of 
Scotland, in its true light and bearing ? ” 


1 Relation. 


THE ABBOT. 


335 


“ I trust, reverend sir,” replied Roland Grseme, “ that I am 
well aware of the duties a servant in my condition owes to his 
royal mistress, especially in her lowly and distressed condition.” 

“ True,” answered the preacher ; “ but it is even that honest 
feeling which may, in the Lady Mary’s case, carry thee into great 
crime and treachery.” 

“ How so, reverend sir ? ” replied the page ; “ I profess I 
understand you not.” 

“ I speak to you not of the crimes of this ill-advised lady,” 
said the preacher ; “ they are not subjects for the ears of her 
sworn servant. But it is enough to say, that this unhappy person 
hath rejected more offers of grace, more hopes of glory, than 
ever were held out to earthly princes ; and that she is now, her 
day of favor being passed, sequestered in this lonely castle, for 
the common weal of the people of Scotland, and it may be for 
the benefit of her own soul.” 

“ Reverend sir,” said Roland, somewhat impatiently, “ I am 
but too well aware that my unfortunate mistress is imprisoned, 
since I have the misfortune to share in her restraint myself ; of 
which, to speak sooth, I am heartily weary.” 

“It is even of that which I am about to speak,” said the chap- 
lain mildly; “but first, my good Roland, look forth on the 
pleasant prospect of yonder cultivated plain. You see, where 
the smoke arises, yonder village standing half hidden by the 
trees, and you know it to be the dwelling place of peace and in- 
dustry. From space to space, each by the side of its own stream, 
you see the gray towers of barons, with cottages interspersed ; 
and you know that they also, with their household, are now liv- 
ing in unity ; the lance hung upon the wall, and the sword resting 
in its sheath. You see, too, more than one fair church, where 
the pure waters of life are offered to the thirsty, and where the 
hungry are refreshed with spiritual food. What would he deserve 
who should bring fire and slaughter into so fair and happy a 
scene ? who should bare the swords of the gentry and turn them 
against each other ? who should give tower and cottage to the 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


33 6 

flames, and slake the embers with the blood of the indwellers ? 
What would he deserve who should lift up again that ancient 
Dagon of Superstition, whom the worthies of the time have 
beaten down, and who should once more make the churches of 
God the high places of Baal ? ” 1 

“You have limned 2 a frightful picture, reverend sir,” said 
Roland Graeme ; “ yet I guess not whom you would charge with 
the purpose of effecting a change so horrible.” 

“ God forbid,” replied the preacher, “ that I should say to 
thee, ‘Thou art the man.’ Yet beware, Roland Graeme, that 
thou, in serving thy mistress, hold fast the still higher service 
which thou owest to the peace of thy country, and the prosperity 
of her inhabitants ; else, Roland Graeme, thou mayest be the very 
man upon whose head will fall the curses and assured punish- 
ment due to such work. If thou art won by the song of these 
sirens 3 to aid that unhappy lady’s escape from this place of 
penitence and security, it is over with the peace of Scotland’s 
cottages, and with the prosperity of her palaces, and the babe 
unborn shall curse the name of the man who gave inlet to the 
disorder which will follow the war betwixt the mother and the 
son.” 

“ I know of no such plan, reverend sir,” answered the page, 
“ and therefore can aid none such. My duty towards the Queen 
has been simply that of an attendant ; it is a task of which, at 
times, I would willingly have been freed; nevertheless” — 

“ It is to prepare thee for the enjoyment of something more of 
liberty,” said the preacher, “ that I have endeavored to impress 
upon you the deep responsibility under which your office must 
be discharged. George Douglas hath told the Lady Lochleven 

1 A Semitic solar deity, worshiped by the Phoenicians and Carthaginians, 
with great cruelty and sensuality ; here used for Popery. 

2 Drawn. 

3 Sea nymphs said to frequent an island near the coast of Italy, and to 
sing with such sweetness as to lure sailors to the island, where their vessels 
were dashed to pieces on the rocks. 


THE ABBOT. 


337 


that you are weary of this service, and my intercession hath part- 
ly determined her good ladyship that as your discharge cannot 
be granted, you shall, instead, be employed in certain commis- 
sions on the mainland, which have hitherto been discharged by 
other persons of confidence. Wherefore, come with me to the 
lady, for even to-day such duty will be imposed on you.” 

“ I trust you will hold me excused, reverend sir,” said the 
page, who felt that an increase of confidence on the part of the 
lady of the castle and her family would render his situation in 
a moral view doubly embarrassing ; “ one cannot serve two mas- 
ters, and I much fear that my mistress will not hold me excused 
for taking employment under another.” 

“Fear not that,” said the preacher; “her consent shall be 
asked and obtained. I fear she will yield it but too easily, as 
hoping to avail herself of your agency to maintain correspond- 
ence with her friends, as those falsely call themselves who would 
make her name the watchword for civil war.” 

“ And thus,” said the page, “ I shall be exposed to suspicion 
on all sides ; for my mistress will consider me as a spy placed 
on her by her enemies, seeing me so far trusted by them ; and 
the Lady Lochleven will never cease to suspect the possibility of 
my betraying her, because circumstances put it into my power to 
do so. I would rather remain as I am.” 

There followed a pause of one or two minutes, during which 
Henderson looked steadily in Roland’s countenance, as if desir- 
ous to ascertain whether there was not more in the answer than 
the precise words seemed to imply. He failed in this point, 
however; for Roland, bred a page from childhood, knew how 
to assume a sullen, pettish cast of countenance, well enough 
calculated to hide all internal emotions. 

“ I understand thee not, Roland,” said the preacher ; “ or 
rather thou thinkest on this matter more deeply than I appre- 
hended to be in thy nature. Methought the delight of going on 
shore with thy bow, or thy gun, or thy angling rod, would have 
borne away all other feelings.” 


22 


338 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ And so it would,” replied Roland, who perceived the danger 
of suffering Henderson’s half-raised suspicions to become fully 
awake ; “ I would have thought of nothing but the gun and the 
oar, and the wild waterfowl that tempt me by sailing among the 
sedges yonder, so far out of flight-shot, had you not spoken of 
my going on shore as what was to occasion burning of town and 
tower, the downfall of the Evangel, and the upsetting of the 
mass.” 

“ Follow me, then,” said Henderson, “ and we will seek the 
Lady Lochleven.” 

They found her at breakfast with her grandson, George Doug- 
las. “ Peace be with your ladyship ! ” said the preacher, bowing 
to his patroness ; “ Roland Graeme awaits your order.” 

“Young man,” said the lady, “our chaplain hath warranted 
for thy fidelity, and we are determined to give you certain errands 
to do for us in our town of Kinross.” 

“ Not by my advice,” said Douglas coldly. 

“ I said not that it was,” answered the lady, something 
sharply. “ The mother of thy father may, I should think, be 
old enough to judge for herself in a matter so simple. — Thou 
wilt take the skiff, Roland, and two of my people, whom Dryfes- 
dale or Randal will order out, and fetch off certain stuff of plate 
and hangings, which should last night be lodged at Kinross by 
the wains 1 from Edinburgh.” 

“ And give this packet,” said George Douglas, “ to a servant 
of ours, whom you will find in waiting there. — It is the report 
to my father,” he added, looking towards his grandmother, who 
acquiesced by bending her head. 

“ I have already mentioned to Master Henderson,” said Roland 
Graeme, “ that as my duty requires my attendance on the Queen, 
her Grace’s permission for my journey ought to be obtained before 
I can undertake your commission.” 

“ Look to it, my son,” said the old lady ; “ the scruple of the 
youth is honorable.” 


1 Wagons. 


THE ABBOT 


339 


“ Craving your pardon, madam, I have no wish to force my- 
self on her presence thus early,” said Douglas, in an indifferent 
tone ; “ it might displease her, and were no way agreeable to me.” 

“And I,” said the Lady Lochleven, “although her temper 
hath been more gentle of late, have no will to undergo, without 
necessity, the rancor 1 of her wit.” 

“Under your permission, madam,” said the chaplain, “I will 
myself render your request to the Queen. . During my long resi- 
dence in this house she hath not deigned to see me in private, 
or to hear my doctrine ; yet so may Heaven prosper my labors, 
as love for her soul, and desire to bring her into the right path, 
was my chief desire for coming hither.” 

“Take care, Master Henderson,” said Douglas in a tone 
which seemed almost sarcastic, “lest you rush hastily on an 
adventure to which you have no vocation. You are learned, 
and know the adage, Ne accesseris in consilium nisi vocatus . 2 Who 
hath required this at your hand ? ” 

“The Master to whose service I am called,” answered the 
preacher, looking upward. “ He who hath commanded me to 
be earnest in season and out of season.” 

“Your acquaintance hath not been much, I think, with courts 
or princes ? ” continued the young esquire. 

“No, sir,” replied Henderson, “but like my master, Knox, I 
see nothing frightful in the fair face of a pretty lady.” 

“My son,” said the Lady of Lochleven, “quench not the 
good man’s zeal. Let him do the errand to this unhappy 
Princess.” 

“ With more willingness than I would do it myself,” said 
George Douglas. Yet something in his manner appeared to 
contradict his words. 

The minister went accordingly, followed by Roland Graeme, 
and, demanding an audience of the imprisoned Princess, was 
admitted. He found her with her ladies engaged in the daily 
task of embroidery. The Queen received him with that courtesy 
2 Come not into the council unless thou art called. 


1 Bitterness. 


340 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


which, in ordinary cases, she used towards all who approached 
her, and the clergyman, in opening his commission, was obviously 
somewhat more embarrassed than he had expected to be. “ The 
good Lady of Lochleven, may it please your Grace” — 

He made a short pause, during which Mary said, with a smile, 
“ My Grace would, in truth, be well pleased were the Lady Loch- 
leven our good lady. But go on ; what is the will of the good 
Lady of Lochleven? 

“ She desires, madam,” said the chaplain, “ that your Grace 
will permit this young gentleman, your page, Roland Graeme, to 
pass to Kinross to look after some household stuff and hangings, 
sent hither for the better furnishing your Grace’s apartments.” 

“ The Lady of Lochleven,” said the Queen, “ uses needless 
ceremony in requesting our permission for that which stands 
within her own pleasure. We well know that this young gentle- 
man’s attendance on us had not been so long permitted, were he 
not thought to be more at the command of that good lady than 
at ours. But we cheerfully yield consent that he shall go on her 
errand ; with our will we would doom no living creature to the 
captivity which we ourselves must suffer.” 

“Ay, madam,” answered the preacher, “and it is doubtless 
natural for humanity to quarrel with its prison house. Yet there 
have been those who have found that time spent in the house of 
temporal captivity may be so employed as to redeem us from 
spiritual slavery.” 

“ I apprehend your meaning, sir,” replied the Queen, “ but I 
have heard your apostle, — I have heard Master John Knox ; and 
were I to be perverted, I would willingly resign to the ablest and 
most powerful of heresiarchs 1 the poor honor he might acquire 
by overcoming my faith and my hope.” 

“ Madam,” said the preacher, “ it is not to the talents or skill 
of the husbandman that God gives the increase. The words 
which were offered in vain by him whom you justly call our 
apostle, during the bustle and gayety of a court, may yet find 

1 Arch, or chief, heretic. 


THE ABBOT. 


341 


better acceptance during the leisure for reflection which this 
place affords. God knows, lady, that I speak in singleness of 
heart, as one who would as soon compare himself to the immortal 
angels, as to the holy man whom you have named. Yet would 
you but condescend to apply to their noblest use those talents 
and that learning which all allow you to be possessed of, would 
you afford us but the slightest hope that you would hear and 
regard what can be urged against the blinded superstition and 
idolatry in which you were brought up, sure am I that the most 
powerfully gifted of my brethren, that even John Knox himself, 
would hasten hither, and account the rescue of your single soul 
from the nets of Romish error” — 

“ I am obliged to you and to them for their charity,” said 
Mary, “but as I have at present but one presence chamber, I 
would reluctantly see it converted into a Huguenot synod .” 1 

“At least, madam, be not thus obstinately blinded in your 
errors! Hear one who has hungered and thirsted, watched and 
prayed, to undertake the good work of your conversion, and who 
would be content to die the instant that a work so advantageous 
for yourself and so beneficial to Scotland were accomplished. 
Yes, lady, could I but shake the remaining pillar of the heathen 
temple in this land, — and that permit me to term your faith in 
the delusions of Rome, — I could be content to die overwhelmed 
in the ruins! ” 2 

“ I will not insult your zeal, sir,” replied Mary, “ by saying 
you are more likely to make sport for the Philistines than to over- 
whelm them. Your charity claims my thanks, for it is warmly 
expressed and may be truly purposed. But believe as well of me 
as I am willing to do of you, and think that I may be as anxious 
to recall you to the ancient and only road, as you are to teach 
me your new byways to paradise.” 

“Then, madam, if such be your generous purpose,” said Hen- 

1 An ecclesiastical council. 

2 An allusion to Samson’s destruction of the temple of the Philistines, at 
the cost of his own life (see Judges xvi. 25-30). 


342 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


derson eagerly, “what hinders that we should dedicate some 
part of that time, unhappily now too much at your Grace’s dis- 
posal, to discuss a question so weighty? You, by report of all 
men, are both learned and witty; and I, though without such 
advantages, am strong in my cause as in a tower of defense. 
Why should we not spend some space in endeavoring to discover 
which of us hath the wrong side in this important matter? ” 

“ Nay,” said Queen Mary, “ I never alleged my force was 
strong enough to accept of a combat en champ clos , J with a 
scholar and a polemic. Besides, the match is not equal. You, 
sir, might retire when you felt the battle go against you, while I 
am tied to the stake, and have no permission to say the debate 
wearies me. — I would be alone.” 

She courtesied low to him as she uttered these words ; and Hen- 
derson, whose zeal was indeed ardent, but did not extend to the 
neglect of delicacy, bowed in return, and prepared to withdraw. 

“ I would,” he said, “ that my earnest wish, my most zealous 
prayer, could procure to your Grace any blessing or comfort, 
but especially that in which alone blessing or comfort is, as 
easily as the slightest intimation of your wish will remove me 
from your presence.” 

He was in the act of departing, when Mary said to him with 
much courtesy, “Do me no injury in your thoughts, good sir; 
it may be, that if my time here be protracted longer, — as surely I 
hope it will not, trusting that either my rebel subjects will repent 
of their disloyalty, or that my faithful lieges will obtain the upper 
hand — but if my time be here protracted, it may be I shall have 
no displeasure in hearing one who seems so reasonable and com- 
passionate as yourself, and I may hazard your contempt by en- 
deavoring, to recollect and repeat the reasons which schoolmen 1 2 

1 In single combat ; literally, in a closed field. 

2 Scholars ; especially Christian disciples of the Aristotelian teaching, 
which was called scholasticism. It arose about A.D. iooo, and flourished 
until the early sixteenth century, devoting itself almost entirely to abstruse 
theological questions. 


THE ABBOT. 


343 


and councils give for the faith that is in me; although I fear 
that, God help me! my Latin has deserted me with my other 
possessions. This must, however, be for another day. Mean- 
while, sir, let the Lady of Lochleven employ my page as she 
lists, t will not afford suspicion by speaking a word to him 
before he goes. — Roland Graeme, my friend, lose not an oppor- 
tunity of amusing thyself ; dance, sing, run, and leap ; all may 
be done merrily on the mainland ; but he must have more than 
quicksilver in his veins who would frolic here.” 

“Alas! madam,” said the preacher, “ to what is it you exhort 
the youth, while time passes, and eternity summons ? Can our 
salvation be insured by idle mirth, or our good work wrought out 
without fear and trembling ? ” 

“ I cannot fear or tremble,” replied the Queen ; “ to Mary 
Stuart such emotions are unknown. But if weeping and sorrow 
on my part will atone for the boy’s enjoying an hour of boyish 
pleasure, be assured the penance shall be duly paid.” 

“Nay, but, gracious lady,” said the preacher, “in this you 
greatly err; our tears and our sorrows are all too little for our 
own faults and follies, nor can we transfer them, as your Church 
falsely teaches, to the benefit of others.” 

“ May I pray you, sir,” answered the Queen, with as little of- 
fense as such a prayer may import, “to transfer yourself else- 
where ? We are sick at heart, and may not now be disturbed 
with farther controversy. — And thou, Roland, take this little 
purse;” then, turning to the divine, she said, showing its con- 
tents, “ Look, reverend sir, it contains only these two or three 
gold testoons , 1 a coin which, though bearing my own poor fea- 
tures, I have ever found more active against me than on my side ; 
just as my subjects take arms against me, with my own name for 
their summons and signal. — Take this purse, that thou mayest 
want no means of amusement. Fail not, fail not to bring me 

1 Coins bearing the head (old French, teste) of the sovereign. Usually 
they were made of silver, and worth about 6 d. They were also called 
testers. 


344 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


back news from Kinross ; only let it be such as, without suspicion 
or offense, may be told in the presence of this reverend gentle- 
man, or of the good Lady Lochleven herself.” 

The last hint was too irresistible to be withstood ; and Hen- 
derson withdrew, half mortified, half pleased, with his reception ; 
for Mary, from long habit, and the address which was natural 
to her, had learned, in an extraordinary degree, the art of evad- 
ing discourse which was disagreeable to her feelings or prejudices, 
without affronting those by whom it was proffered. 

Roland Graeme retired with the chaplain, at a signal from his 
lady ; but it did not escape him that, as he left the room, step- 
ping backwards, and making the deep obeisance due to royalty, 
Catherine Seyton held up her slender forefinger, with a gesture 
which he alone could witness, and which seemed to say, “ Re- 
member what has passed betwixt us.” 

The young page had now his last charge from the Lady of 
Lochleven. “There are revels,” she said, “this day at the 
village ; my son’s authority is, as yet, unable to prevent these 
continued workings of the ancient leaven of folly which the 
Romish priests have kneaded into the very souls of the Scottish 
peasantry. I do not command thee to abstain from them ; that 
would be only to lay a snare for thy folly, or to teach thee false- 
hood ; but enjoy these vanities with moderation, and mark them 
as something thou must soon learn to renounce and contemn. 
Our chamberlain 1 at Kinross, Luke Lundin, — Doctor, as he fool- 
ishly calleth himself, — will acquaint thee what is to be done in 
the matter about which thou goest. Remember thou art trusted ; 
show thyself, therefore, worthy of trust.” 

When we recollect that Roland Graeme was not yet nineteen, 
and that he had spent his whole life in the solitary Castle of 
Avenel, excepting the few hours he had passed in Edinburgh, 
and his late residence at Lochleven (the latter period having very 
little served to enlarge his acquaintance with the gay world), we 
cannot wonder that his heart beat high with hope and curiosity 
1 Here, one who collects rents and revenues. 


THE ABBOT 


345 


at the prospect of partaking the sport even of a country wake. 
He hastened to his little cabin, and turned over the wardrobe 
with which (in every respect becoming his station) he had been 
supplied from Edinburgh, probably by order of the Earl of 
Murray. By the Queen’s command he had hitherto waited 
upon her in mourning, or at least in sad-colored raiment. Her 
condition, she said, admitted of nothing more gay. But now he 
selected the gayest dress his wardrobe afforded, composed of 
scarlet slashed with black satin, the royal colors of Scotland ; 
combed his long curled hair, disposed his chain and medal round 
a beaver hat of the newest block ; 1 and with the gay falchion 
which had reached him in so mysterious a manner, hung by his 
side in an embroidered belt, his apparel, added to his natural 
frank mien and handsome figure, formed a most commendable 
and pleasing specimen of the young gallant of the period. He 
sought to make his parting reverence to the Queen and her 
ladies, but old Dryfesdale hurried him to the boat. 

“ We will have no private audiences,” he said, “ my master ; 
since you are to be trusted with somewhat, we will try at least 
to save thee from the temptation of opportunity. God help thee, 
child,” he added, with a glance of contempt at his gay clothes, 
“ an the bear- ward 2 be yonder from St. Andrews, have a care 
thou go not near him.” 

“And wherefore, I pray you ? ” said Roland. 

“ Lest he take thee for one of his runaway jackanapes,” an- 
swered the steward, smiling sourly. 

“ I wear not my clothes at thy cost,” said Roland indignantly. 

“ Nor at thine own either, my son,” replied the steward, “ else 
would thy garb more nearly resemble thy merit and thy station.” 

Roland Grseme suppressed with difficulty the repartee which 
arose to his lips, and, wrapping his scarlet mantle around him, 
threw himself into the boat, which two rowers, themselves urged 
by curiosity to see the revels, pulled stoutly towards the west end 

1 The wooden mold on which a hat is shaped. 

2 One who keeps bears for exhibition. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


346 

of the lake. As they put off, Roland thought he could discover 
the face of Catherine Seyton, though carefully withdrawn from 
observation, peeping from a loophole to view his departure. He 
pulled off his hat, and held it up as a token that he saw and 
wished her adieu. A white kerchief waved for a second across 
the window, and for the rest of the little voyage, the thoughts of 
Catherine Seyton disputed ground in his breast with the expec- 
tations excited by the approaching revel. As they drew nearer 
and nearer the shore, the sounds of mirth and music, the laugh, 
the halloo, and the shout, came thicker upon the ear ; and in a 
trice the boat was moored, and Roland Graeme hastened in quest 
of the chamberlain, that, being informed what time he had at 
his own disposal, he might lay it out to the best advantage. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

N O long space intervened ere Roland Graeme was able to 
discover among the crowd of revelers who gamboled upon 
the open space which extends betwixt the village and the lake, a 
person of so great importance as Dr. Luke Lundin, upon whom 
devolved officially the charge of representing the lord of the 
land, and who was attended for support of his authority by a 
piper, a drummer, and four sturdy clowns armed with rusty hal- 
berds garnished with party-colored ribbons, myrmidons 1 who, 
early as the day was, had already broken more than one head in 
the awful names of the Laird of Lochleven and his chamberlain . 2 

As soon as this dignitary was informed that the castle skiff 
had arrived with a gallant, dressed like a lord’s son at the least, 
who desired presently 3 to speak to him, he adjusted his ruff and 

1 Followers ; especially those of officers of the law. 

2 At Scottish fairs the baillie, or magistrate deputed by the lord in whose 
name the meeting is held, attends with his guard, to settle disputes or punish 
petty offenses. 3 Immediately. 


THE ABBOT. 


347 


his black coat, turned round his girdle till the garnished hilt of 
his long rapier became visible, and walked with due solemnity 
towards the beach. Solemn indeed he was entitled to be, even 
on less important occasions, for he had been bred to the ven- 
erable study of medicine, as those acquainted with the science 
very soon discovered from the aphorisms which ornamented his 
discourse. His success had not been equal to his pretensions ; 
but as he was a native of the neighboring kingdom of Fife, and 
bore distant relation to, or dependence upon, the ancient family 
of Lundin of that Ilk , 1 who were bound in close friendship 
with the House of Lochleven, he had, through their interest, got 
planted comfortably enough in his present station upon the 
banks of that beautiful lake. The profits of hfs chamberlainship 
being moderate, especially in those unsettled times, he had eked it 
out a little with some practice in his original profession ; and it 
was said that the inhabitants of the village and barony of Kin- 
ross were not more effectually thirled (which may be translated 
enthralled) to the baron’s mill, than they were to the medical 
monopoly of the chamberlain. Woe betide the family of the 
rich boor who presumed to depart this life without a passport 
from Dr. Luke Lundin! for if his representatives had aught to 
settle with the baron, as it seldom happened otherwise, they were 
sure to find a cold friend in the chamberlain. He was consider- 
ate enough, however, gratuitously to help the poor out of their 
ailments, and sometimes out of all their other distresses at the 
same time. 

Formal, in a double proportion, both as a physician and as a 
person in office, and proud of the scraps of learning which ren- 
dered his language almost universally unintelligible, Dr. Luke 
Lundin approached the beach, and hailed the page as he ad- 
vanced towards him. “ The freshness of the morning upon you, 
fair sir. You are sent, I warrant me, to see if we observe here 

1 Literally, the same; used only in Scotland instead of the name of an 
estate, when that is identical with the family name; i.e., Lundin of Lundin. 
Only a few very ancient families can write themselves “of that Ilk.” 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


348 

the regimen which her good ladyship hath prescribed, for eschew- 
ing all superstitious ceremonies and idle anilities 1 in these our 
revels. I am aware that her good ladyship would willingly 
have altogether abolished and abrogated them; but, as I had 
the honor to quote to her from the works of the learned Hercules 
of Saxony , 2 omnis curatio est vel canonica vel coacta , — that is, fair 
sir, (for silk and velvet have seldom their Latin ad unguent , 3 ) 
every cure must be wrought either by art and induction of rule, 
or by constraint ; and the wise physician chooseth the former. 
Which argument her ladyship being pleased to allow well of, I 
have made it my business so to blend instruction and caution 
with delight, — fiat mixtio , 4 as we say, — that I can answer that the 
vulgar mind will*be defecated 5 and purged of anile and Popish 
fooleries by the medicament adhibited, so that the pritnce vice 6 
being cleansed, Master Henderson, or any other able pastor, may 
at will throw in tonics, and effectuate a perfect moral cure, tuto , 
cito, jucunde .” 1 

“ I have no charge, Dr. Lundin,” replied the page. 

“ Call me not doctor,” said the chamberlain, “ since I have 
laid aside my furred gown and bonnet, and retired me into this 
temporality of chamberlainship.” 

“ Oh, sir,” said the page, who was no stranger by report to the 
character of this original, “ the cowl makes not the monk, neither 
the cord the friar. We have all heard of the cures wrought by 
Dr. Lundin.” 

“ Toys, young sir, trifles,” answered the leech with grave dis- 
clamation 8 of superior skill; “the hit-or-miss practice of a poor 
retired gentleman, in a short cloak and doublet. Marry, Heaven 
sent its blessing, and this I must say, better fashioned mediciners 

1 Actions or sayings resembling those of doting old age. 

2 Named after Hercules, the classical god of strength. Saxony is a king- 
dom of eastern Germany. 

3 At their fingers’ ends. 4 Let a mixture be made. 5 Purified. 

6 Entrances ; literally, the first part of the ways. # 

7 Safely, swiftly, and pleasantly. 8 Disclaiming. 


THE ABBOT. 


349 


have brought fewer patients through, lunga roba corta scienzia, 1 
saith the Italian. Ha, fair sir, you have the language ? ” 

Roland Graeme did not think it necessary to expound to this 
learned Theban 2 whether he understood him or no ; but leaving 
that matter uncertain, he told him he came in quest of certain 
packages, which should have arrived at Kinross and been placed 
under the chamberlain’s charge the evening before. 

“ Body o’ me ! ” said Dr. Lundin, “ I fear our common carrier, 
John Aucht'ermuchty, hath met with some mischance, that he 
came not up last night with his wains. Bad land this to journey 
in, my master ; and the fool will travel by night too, although 
(besides all maladies from your tussis to your pestis 3 which walk 
abroad in the night air) he may well fall in with half a dozen 
swash-bucklers , 4 who will ease him at once of his baggage and 
his earthly complaints. I must send forth to inquire after him, 
since he hath stuff of the honorable household on hand — and, 
by Our Lady, he hath stuff of mine too ; certain drugs sent me 
from the city for composition of my alexipharmics ; 5 this gear 6 
must be looked to. — Hodge,” said he, addressing one of his 
redoubted bodyguard, “do thou and Toby Telford take the 
mickle 7 brown aver 8 and the black cut-tailed mare, and make 
out towards the Kerry Craigs, and see what tidings you can have 
of Auchtermuchty and his wains. I trust it is only the medi- 
cine of the pottle-pot (being the only medicamentum which the 
beast useth) which hath caused him to tarry on the road. Take 
the ribbons from your halberds, ye knaves, and get on your 
jacks, plate-sleeves, and knapskulls, that your presence may work 

1 Long robe, short science. 

2 “ The Learned Theban ” was CEdipus, who became King of Thebes on 
solving the riddle of the sphinx. 

3 “ From your tussis,” etc., i.e., from cough to pestilence. 

4 Swaggering bullies ; so called from their swashing, or clattering, upon 
their bucklers. 

5 Antidotes to the infection of poison. 6 Business ; affair. 

7 Much; here, large. 

8 Cart horse. 


35 ° 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


some terror if you meet with opposers.” He then added, turn- 
ing to Roland Graeme, “ I warrant me we shall have news of the 
wains in brief season. Meantime it will please you to look upon 
the sports; but first to enter my poor lodging and take your 
morning’s cup. For what saith the school of Salerno ? 1 

Poculum, mane haustum, 

Restaurat naturam exhaustam .” 2 

“Your learning is too profound for me,” replied the page; 
“ and so would your draught be likewise, I fear.” 

“Not a whit, fair sir ; a cordial cup of sack 3 impregnated with 
wormwood is the best anti-pestilential draught; and, to speak 
truth, the pestilential miasmata are now very rife in the atmos- 
phere. We live in a happy time, young man,” continued he in 
a tone of grave irony, “ and have many blessings unknown to 
our fathers. Here are two sovereigns in the land, a regnant 
and a claimant ; 4 that is enough of one good thing. But if any 
one wants more, he may find a king in every peelhouse 5 in the 
country ; so if we lack government, it is not for want of gov- 
ernors. Then have we a civil war to phlebotomize 6 us every 
year, and to prevent our population from starving for want of 
food ; and for the same purpose we have the Plague proposing 
us a visit, the best of all recipes for thinning a land, and con- 
verting younger brothers into elder ones. Well, each man in his 
vocation. You young fellows of the sword desire to wrestle, 
fence, or so forth, with some expert adversary ; and for my part, 

1 Salerno, near Naples, was the seat of the most authoritative school of 
medicine in Western Europe, from the ninth, to the twelfth or thirteenth, 
century, when the Arabian system of medicine was introduced. 

2 “ A cup at morning drained ; 

Exhausted strength regained.” 

3 One of the strong, light-colored wines brought to England from Spain 
and the Canary Islands. 

4 “A regnant,” etc., i.e., one reigning, and one claiming the throne. 

5 A castle or small fortress. 6 Bleed. 


THE ABBOT. 351 

I love to match myself for life or death against that same 
Plague.” 

As they proceeded up the street of the little village towards the 
Doctor’s lodgings, his attention was successively occupied by 
the various personages whom he met, and pointed out to the 
notice of his companion. 

“ Do you see that fellow with the red bonnet, the blue jerkin, 
and the great rough baton in his hand ? I believe that clown 
hath the strength of a tower; he has lived fifty years in the 
world, and never encouraged the liberal sciences by buying 
one pennyworth of medicaments. But see you that man with 
the facies hippocratica ? ” 1 said he, pointing out a thin peasant, 
with swelled legs, and a most cadaverous countenance ; “ that I 
call one of the worthiest men in the barony. He breakfasts, 
luncheons, dines, and sups by my advice, and not without my 
medicine ; and, for his own single part, will go farther to clear 
out a moderate stock of pharmaceutics 1 2 than half the country 
besides. — How do you, my honest friend ? ” said he to the party 
in question, with a tone of condolence. 

“Very weakly, sir, since I took the electuary,” 3 answered the 
patient ; “ it neighbored ill with the two spoonfuls of pease por- 
ridge and the kirnmilk.” 4 

“ Pease porridge and kirnmilk ! Have you been under medi- 
cine these ten years, and keep your diet so ill ? The next 
morning take the electuary by itself, and touch nothing for six 
hours.” The poor object bowed, and limped off. 

The next whom the Doctor deigned to take notice of was a 
lame fellow, by whom the honor was altogether undeserved, for 
at sight of the mediciner he began to shuffle away in the crowd 
as fast as his infirmities would permit. 

1 The expression of face of a dying person, or one exhausted by illness ; 

so called because it is vividly described by Hippocrates, a Greek physician 
of the fourth century B.C., named the “Father of Medicine.” 2 Drugs. 

3 A medicine made of powders compounded with sirup or honey ; origi- 

nally made in a form to be licked by the patient. 4 Buttermilk. 


35 2 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ There is an ungrateful hound for you,” said Dr. Lundin ; 
“ I cured him of the gout in his feet, and now he talks of the 
chargeableness of medicine, and makes the first use of his re- 
stored legs to fly from his physician. His podagra hath become 
a chiragra, 1 as honest Martial 2 hath it; the gout has got into 
his fingers, and he cannot draw his purse. Old saying and true, 

Praemia cum poscit medicus, Sathan est . 3 

We are angels when we come to cure, devils when we ask pay- 
ment ; but I will administer a purgation to his purse, I warrant 
him. There is his brother, too, a sordid chuff. 4 — So ho, there ! 
Saunders Darlet ! you have been ill, I hear? ” 

“Just got the turn, as I was thinking to send to your honor, and 
I am brawly 5 now again. It was nae great thing that ailed me.” 

“ Hark you, sirrah,” said the Doctor, “ I trust you remember 
you are owing to the laird four stones 6 of barley meal, and a 
bow of oats ; and I would have you send no more such kain- 
fowls 7 as you sent last season, that looked as wretchedly as 
patients just dismissed from a plague hospital ; and there is hard 
money owing, besides.” 

“I was thinking, sir,” said the man, more Scotico , 8 — that is, 
returning no direct answer on the subject on which he was ad- 
dressed, — “ my best way would be to come down to your honor, 
and take your advice yet, in case my trouble should come back.” 

“ Do so, then, knave,” replied Lundin, “ and remember what 
Ecclesiasticus 9 saith, — ‘Give place to the physician; let him 
not go from thee, for thou hast need of him.’ ” 

1 P odagra, gout in the foot ; chiragra, gout in the hand. 

2 A Roman poet (A.D. 50-104) born in Spain. He was famous for his 
fourteen books of epigrams (short poems, often satirical). 

3 When a physician asks for his pay, he is Satan. 

4 A surly or avaricious fellow. 5 Bravely ; finely. 

6 A stone is a varying measure, usually equal to about fourteen pounds. 

7 Poultry paid to the landlord as part of the rent. 

8 In the Scottish fashion. 

9 One of the apocryphal books of the Old Testament. 


THE ABBOT. 


353 


His exhortation was interrupted by an apparition which seemed 
to strike the Doctor with as much horror and surprise as his 
own visage inflicted upon sundry of those persons whom he had 
addressed. 

The figure which produced this effect on the ^Esculapius 1 of 
the village was that of a tall old woman, who wore a high- 
crowned hat and muffler. The first of these habiliments added 
apparently to her stature, and the other served to conceal the 
lower part of her face ; and as the hat itself was slouched, little 
could be seen besides two brown cheek bones, and the eyes of 
swarthy fire, that gleamed from under two shaggy gray eyebrows. 
She was dressed in a long dark-colored robe of unusual fashion, 
bordered at the skirts and on the stomacher 2 with a sort of 
white trimming resembling the Jewish phylacteries , 3 on which 
were wrought the characters of some unknown language. She 
held in her hand a walking staff of black ebony. 

“ By the soul of Celsus ,” 4 said Dr. Luke Lundin, “ it is old 
Mother Nicneven 5 herself ! She hath come to beard me within 
mine own bounds, and in the very execution of mine office ! 

‘ Have 6 at thy coat, Old Woman,’ as the song says. Hob Anster, 
let her presently be seized and committed to the tolbooth ; 7 and 
if there are any zealous brethren here who would give the hag 
her deserts, and duck her, as a witch, in the loch, I pray, let 
them in no way be hindered.” 

But the myrmidons of Dr. Lundin showed in this case no 
alacrity to do his bidding. Hob Anster even ventured to re- 
monstrate in the name of himself and his brethren. To be 
sure he was to do his honor’s bidding ; and for a’ that folks said 

1 The Greek god of medicine ; hence, a physician. 

2 A part of the dress, usually forming the front of the bodice. 

3 Strips of parchment inscribed with certain Old Testament texts, usually 

inclosed in a small leathern case, and fastened upon the forehead or the left 
arm. 4 A Roman physician in the time of Tiberius (A.D. 14-37). 

5 The name given to the great mother witch of Scottish superstition. 

6 Strike. 7 The jail. 

23 


354 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


about the skill and witcheries of Mother Nicneven, he would 
put his trust in God, and his hand on her collar, without dreador . 1 
But she was no common spaewife , 2 this Mother Nicneven, like 
Jean Jopp that lived in the brierie-baulk . 3 She had lords and 
lairds that would ruffle for her. There was Moncrieff of Tip- 
permalloch, that was Popish, and the Laird of Carslogie, a kend 4 
Queen’s man, were in the fair, with wha kenned how mony swords 
and bucklers at their back ; and they would be sure to make a 
break-out if the officers meddled with the auld Popish witch-wife, 
who was sae weel friended ; mair especially as the laird’s best 
men, such as were not in the castle, were in Edinburgh with 
him, and he doubted his honor the Doctor would find ower 5 few 
to make a good backing, if blades were bare . 6 

The Doctor listened unwillingly to this prudential counsel, and 
was only comforted by the faithful promise of his satellite that 
“ the old woman should,” as he expressed it, “ be ta’en canny the 
next time she trespassed on the bounds .” 7 

“ And in that event,” said the Doctor to his companion, “ fire 
and fagot shall be the best of her welcome.” 

This he spoke in hearing of the dame herself, who even then, 
and in passing the Doctor, shot towards him from under her gray 
eyebrows a look of the most insulting and contemptuous superi- 
ority. 

“ This way,” continued the physician, “ this way,” marshaling 
his guest into his lodging ; “ take care you stumble not over a 
retort, for it is hazardous for the ignorant to walk in the ways of 
art.” 

The page found all reason for the caution : for besides stuffed 
birds, and lizards, and snakes bottled up, and bundles of simples 8 
made up, and other parcels spread out to dry, and all the con- 

1 Fear. 2 Female fortune teller. 

3 A thorny strip of unplowed ground. 4 Known. 3 Over. 

6 “ If blades,” etc., i.e., if swords were drawn. 

7 “ Be ta’en canny,” etc., i.e., be taken quietly or secretly the next time 

she came within the jurisdiction of Lochleven. 8 Medicinal herbs. 


THE ABBOT. 


355 


fusion, not to mention the mingled and sickening smells, inci- 
dental to a druggist’s stock in trade, he had also to avoid heaps 
of charcoal crucibles, boltheads, stoves, and the other furniture 
of a chemical laboratory. 

Amongst his other philosophical qualities, Dr. Lundin failed 
not to be a confused sloven, and his old dame housekeeper, 
whose life, as she said, was spent in “redding 1 him up,” had 
trotted off to the mart of gayety with other and younger folks. 
Much clattering and jangling, therefore, there was among jars, 
and bottles, and vials, ere the Doctor produced the salutiferous 2 
potion which he recommended so strongly, and a search equally 
long and noisy followed, among broken cans and cracked pipkins, 
ere he could bring forth a cup out of which to drink it. Both 
matters being at length achieved, the Doctor set the example to 
his guest, by quaffing off a cup of the cordial, and smacking his 
lips with approbation as it descended his gullet. Roland, in turn, 
submitted to swallow the potion which his host so earnestly 
recommended, but which he found so insufferably bitter that 
he became eager to escape from the laboratory in search of a 
draught of fair water to expel the taste. In spite of his efforts, 
he was nevertheless detained by the garrulity of his host, till he 
gave him some account of Mother Nicneven. 

“ I care not to speak of her,” said the Doctor, “ in the open 
air, an'd among the throng of people ; not for fright, like yon 
cowardly dog Anster, but because I would give no occasion for 
a fray, having no leisure to look to stabs, slashes, and broken 
bones. Men call the old hag a prophetess ; I do scarce believe 
she could foretell when a brood of chickens will chip the shell. 
Men say she reads the heavens ; my black bitch knows as much 
of them when she sits baying the moon. Men pretend the 
ancient wretch is a sorceress, a witch, and what not. Inter nos , 3 
I will never contradict a rumor which may bring her to the stake 
which she so justly deserves; but neither will I believe that the 


l Cleaning. 


2 Health-giving. 


3 Between ourselves. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


35 6 

tales of witches which they din into our ears are aught but knav- 
ery, cozenage, and old women’s fables.” 

“ In the name of Heaven, w r hat is she then,” said the page, 
“ that you make such a stir about her ? ” 

“ She is one of those cursed old women,” replied the Doctor, 
“ who take currently and impudently upon themselves to act as 
advisers and curers of the sick, on the strength of some trash of 
herbs, some rhyme of spells, some julap 1 or diet, drink or cordial.” 

“ Nay, go no farther,” said the page ; “if they brew cordials, 
evil be their lot and all their partakers! ” 

“ You say well, young man,” said Dr. Lundin ; “ for mine own 
part, I know no such pests to the commonwealth as these old in- 
carnate devils, who haunt the chambers of the brain-sick patients 
that are mad enough to suffer them to interfere with, disturb, and 
let, the regular progress of a learned and artificial cure, with their 
sirups, and their julaps, and diascordium , 2 and mithridate , 3 and 
my Lady What-shall-call-um’s powder, and worthy Dame Trash- 
em’s pill; and thus make widows and orphans, and cheat the 
regular and well-studied physician, in order to get the name of 
wise women and skeely 4 neighbors, and so forth. But no more 
on’t. Mother Nicneven and I will meet one day, and she shall 
know there is danger in dealing with the Doctor.” 

“ It is a true word, and many have found it,” said the page ; 
“ but, under your favor, I would fain walk abroad for a little, 
and see these sports.” 

“ It is well moved,” said the Doctor, “ and I too should be 
showing myself abroad. Moreover, the play waits us, young 
man ; to-day, totus mundus agit histrionem .” 5 And they sallied 
forth accordingly into the mirthful scene. 

1 A sweet drink. 

2 An electuary in which the plant scordium was the chief element. 

3 An electuary formerly supposed to serve as an antidote or as a pre- 

servative against poison; so called from Mithridates, King of Pontus, who 
habituated himself to poison, by small doses, as a protection against assassin- 

ation. 4 Skillful. 5 All the world runs after the actor. 


THE ABBOT. 


357 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

T HE reappearance of the dignified chamberlain on the street 
of the village was eagerly hailed by the revelers, as a pledge 
that the play, or dramatic representation, which had been post- 
poned owing to his absence, was now full surely to commence. 
Anything like an approach to this most interesting of all amuse- 
ments was of recent origin in Scotland, and engaged public at- 
tention in proportion. All other sports were discontinued. The 
dance around the Maypole was arrested, the ring broken up and 
dispersed, while the dancers, each leading his partner by the 
hand, tripped off to the silvan 1 theater. A truce was in like 
manner achieved betwixt a huge brown bear and certain mastiffs 
who were tugging and pulling at his shaggy coat, under the 
mediation of the bear-ward and half a dozen butchers and yeo- 
men, who, by dint of staving and tailing , 2 as it was technically 
termed, separated the unfortunate animals whose fury had for 
an hour past been their chief amusement. The itinerant minstrel 
found himself deserted by the audience he had collected, even 
in the most interesting passage of the romance which he recited, 
and just as he was sending about his boy, with bonnet in hand, 
to collect their oblations. He indignantly stopped short in the 
midst of Rosewal a?id Lilian , 3 and, replacing his three-stringed 
fiddle, or rebeck, in its leathern case, followed the crowd, with no 
good will, to the exhibition which had superseded his own. The 
juggler had ceased his exertions of emitting flame and smoke, 
and was content to respire in the manner of ordinary mortals, 
rather than to play gratuitously the part of a fiery dragon. In 

1 Pertaining to a forest : hence, rural ; rustic. 

2 “ Staving,” etc., i.e., holding back the bear with a staff, and pulling the 
dog by the tail. 

3 A Pleasant History of Roswall and Lillian ; a ballad printed in 1663, at 
Edinburgh. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


35 8 

short, all other sports were suspended, so eagerly did the revelers 
throng towards the place of representation. 

They would err greatly who should regulate their ideas of this 
dramatic exhibition upon those derived from a modern theater ; 
for the rude shows of Thespis 1 were far less different from those 
exhibited by Euripides 2 on the stage of Athens, with all its mag- 
nificent decorations and pomp of dresses and of scenery. In 
the present case, there were no scenes, no stage, no machinery, 
no pit, box, and gallery, no box lobby ; and, what might in poor 
Scotland be some consolation for other negations, there was no 
taking of money at the door. As in the devices of the magnan- 
imous Bottom , 3 the actors had a greensward plot for a stage, 
and a hawthorn bush for a greenroom and tiring-house , 4 the 
spectators being accommodated with seats on the artificial bank 
which had been raised around three fourths of the playground, 
the remainder being left open for the entrance and exit of the 
performers. Here sat the uncritical audience, the chamberlain 
in the center, as the person highest in office, all alive to enjoy- 
ment and admiration, and all therefore dead to criticism. 

The characters which appeared and disappeared before the 
amused and interested audience were those which fill the earlier 
stage in all nations : old men, cheated by their wives and daugh- 
ters, pillaged by their sons, and imposed on by their domestics ; 
a braggadocio captain ; a knavish pardoner , 5 or question ary ; a 
country bumpkin, and a wanton city dame. Amid all these, and 
more acceptable than almost the whole put together, was the all- 
licensed fool, the Gracioso of the Spanish drama, who, with his cap 

1 A poet of Attica, supposed to have invented tragedy about 536 B.C. 
His plays were shown from town to town, on a cart for a stage, with actors 
painted with wine dregs. 

2 The third and last of the great Greek tragic poets (480-407 B.C.). 

3 The Athenian weaver, in Midsummer Night’s Dream, who plays the 

part of Pyramus, and is loved by Titania (see Midsummer Night’s Dream, 
act iii., sc. 1). 4 A place where players dress for the stage. 

5 One licensed to grant papal indulgences, i.e., pardons for sins com- 
mitted or to be committed. 


THE ABBOT. 


359 


fashioned into the resemblance of a coxcomb, and his bauble — 
a truncheon terminated by a carved figure wearing a fool’s cap — 
in his hand, went, came, and returned, mingling in every scene 
of the piece, and interrupting the business, without having any 
share himself in the action, and ever and anon transferring his 
gibes from the actors on the stage to the audience who sat around, 
prompt to applaud the whole. 

The wit of the piece, which was not of the most polished kind, 
was chiefly directed against the superstitious practices of the 
Catholic religion ; and the stage artillery had, on this occasion, 
been leveled by no less a person than Dr. Lundin, who had not 
only commanded the manager of the entertainment to select 
one of the numerous satires which had been written against the 
Papists (several of which were cast in a dramatic form), but had 
even, like the Prince of Denmark , 1 caused them to insert, or, 
according to his own phrase, to infuse here and there, a few 
pleasantries of his own penning on the same inexhaustible sub- 
ject, hoping thereby to mollify the rigor of the Lady of Loch- 
leven towards pastimes of this description. He failed not to jog 
Roland’s elbow, who was sitting in state behind him, and recom- 
mend to his particular attention those favorite passages. As for 
the page, to whom the very idea of such an exhibition, simple 
as it was, was entirely new, he beheld it with the undiminished 
and ecstatic delight with which men of all ranks look for the 
first time on dramatic representation, and laughed, shouted, and 
clapped his hands as the performance proceeded. An incident 
at length took place which effectually broke off his interest in the 
business of the scene. 

One of the principal personages in the comic part of the drama 
was, as we have already said, a qusestionary, or pardoner, — 
one of those itinerants who hawked about from place to place 
relics, real or pretended, with which he excited the devotion at 
once, and the charity of the populace, and generally deceived 


1 See Hamlet, act ii., sc. 2, after the entrance of the actors. 


360 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

both the one and the other. The hypocrisy, impudence, and 
profligacy of these clerical wanderers had made them the subject 
of satire from the time of Chaucer 1 down to that of Hey wood . 2 
Their present representative failed not to follow the same line of 
humor, exhibiting pig’s bones for relics, and boasting the virtues 
of small tin crosses which had been shaken in the holy porringer 
at Loretto , 3 and of cockleshells which had been brought from the 
shrine of St. James of Compostella , 4 all which he disposed of to 
the devout Catholics at nearly as high a price as antiquaries are 
now willing to pay for baubles of similar intrinsic value. At 
length the pardoner pulled from his scrip a small vial of clear 
water, of which he vaunted the quality in the following verses : — 

“ ‘ Listneth, gode people, everiche one, 

For in the londe of Babylone, 

Far eastward I wot it lyeth, 

And is the first londe the sonne espieth, 

Ther, as he cometh fro out the se ; 

In this ilk londe, as thinketh me, 

Right as holie legendes tell, 

Snottreth 5 from a roke a well, 

And falleth into ane bath of ston, 

Where chaste Susanne, in times long gon, 

Was wont to wash her bodie and lim. 

Mickle vertue hath that streme, 

As ye shall se er that ye pas, 

Ensample by this little glas — 


1 In his greatest work, The Canterbury Tales, Chaucer ridicules the cor- 
ruption of such religious characters as the Pardoner, the Monk, and the Friar 
(see Prologue to The Canterbury Tales). 

2 A humorous poet at the court of Henry VIII. (1500-1565). 

3 An Italian city, the site of the Holy House of the Virgin Mary, said to 
have been brought thither by angels. 

4 A famous church in Spain, dedicated to St. James the Elder, patron 
saint of the kingdom. Like Loretto, it was resorted to by hosts of pilgrims, 
who brought away with them relics of the saints. 

5 Gushes forth. 


THE ABBOT. 


361 


Through nightes cold and dayes hote 
Hidervvard I have it brought ; 

* Hath a wife made slip or slide, 

Or a maiden stepp’d aside, 

Putteth this water under her nese, 

Wold she nold she , 1 she shall snese.’” 

The jest, as the reader skillful in the antique language of the 
drama must at once perceive, turned on the same pivot as in the 
old minstrel tales of the Drinking Horn of King Arthur, and the 
Mantle made Amiss . 2 But the audience were neither learned 
nor critical enough to challenge its want of originality. The 
potent relic was, after such grimace and buffoonery as befitted 
the subject, presented successively to each of the female person- 
ages of the drama, not one of whom sustained the supposed test 
of discretion ; but, to the infinite delight of the audience, sneezed 
much louder and longer than perhaps they themselves had 
counted on. The jest seemed at last worn threadbare, and the 
pardoner was passing on to some new pleasantry, when the jester, 
or clown, of the drama, possessing himself secretly of the vial 
which contained the wondrous liquor, applied it suddenly to the 
nose of a young woman, who, with her black silk muffler, or 
screen, drawn over her face, was sitting in the foremost rank of 
the spectators, intent apparently upon the business of the stage. 
The contents of the vial, well calculated to sustain the credit of 
the pardoner’s legend, set the damsel a-sneezing violently, an 
admission of frailty which was received with shouts of rapture 
by the audience. These were soon, however, renewed at the 
expense of the jester himself, when the insulted maiden extricated, 
ere the paroxysm was well over, one hand from the folds of her 
mantle, and bestowed on the wag a buffet which made him reel 
fully his own length from the pardoner, and then acknowledge 
the favor by instant prostration. 

1 “ Wold she,” etc., i.e., whether she will or no. 

2 Only a faultless person could wear the mantle, or drink from the horn 
without spilling its contents. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


362 

No one pities a jester overcome in his vocation, and the clown 
met with little sympathy, when, rising from the ground, and 
whimpering forth his complaints of harsh treatment, Ire invoked 
the assistance and sympathy of the audience. But the cham- 
berlain, feeling his own dignity insulted, ordered two of his hal- 
berdiers to bring the culprit before him. When these official 
persons first approached the virago, she threw herself into an 
attitude of firm defiance, as if determined to resist their author- 
ity ; and from the sample of strength and spirit which she had 
already displayed, they showed no alacrity at executing their 
commission. But on half a minute’s reflection, the damsel 
changed totally her attitude and manner, folded her cloak around 
her arms in modest and maidenlike fashion, and walked of her 
own accord to the presence of the great man, followed and 
guarded by the two manful satellites. As she moved across the 
vacant space, and more especially as she stood at the footstool 
of the Doctor’s judgment seat, the maiden discovered that light- 
ness and elasticity of step, and natural grace of manner, which 
connoisseurs in female beauty know r to be seldom divided from 
it. Her features were concealed by the screen ; but the Doctor, 
whose gravity did not prevent his pretensions to be a connoisseur 
of the school we have hinted at, saw enough to judge favorably 
of the piece by the sample. 

He began, however, with considerable austerity of manner. 
“And how now, saucy quean ! ” said the medical man of office ; 
“ what have you to say why I should not order you to be ducked 
in the loch, for lifting your hand to the man in my presence ? ” 

“ Marry,’’ replied the culprit, “ because I judge that your honor 
will not think the cold bath necessary for my complaints.’’ 

“ A pestilent jade,” said the Doctor, whispering to Roland 
Graeme ; “ and I’ll warrant her a good one ; her voice is as sweet 
as sirup. — But, my pretty maiden,” said he, “you show us won- 
derful little of that countenance of yours. Be pleased to throw 
aside your muffler.” 

“ I trust your honor will excuse me till we are more private,” 


THE ABBOT. 


363 

answered the maiden; “for I have acquaintance, and I should 
like ill to be known in the country as the poor girl whom that 
scurvy knave put his jest upon.” 

“ Fear nothing for thy good name, my sweet little modicum of 
candied manna,” 1 replied the Doctor, “for I protest to you, as 
I am chamberlain of Lochleven, Kinross, and so forth, that the 
chaste Susanna herself could not have snuffed that elixir without 
sternutation, 2 being in truth a curious distillation of rectified 
acetum , or vinegar of the sun, prepared by mine own hands. 
Wherefore, as thou sayest thou wilt come to me in private, and 
express thy contrition for the offense whereof thou hast been 
guilty, I command that all for the present go forward as if no 
such interruption of the prescribed course had taken place.” 

The damsel courtesied and tripped back to her place. The 
play proceeded, but it no longer attracted the attention of Roland 
Graeme. 

The voice, the figure, and what the veil permitted to be seen 
of the neck and tresses of the village damsel, bore so strong a 
resemblance to those of Catherine Seyton, that he felt like one 
bewildered in the mazes of a changeful and stupefying dream. 
The memorable scene of the hostelry rushed on his recollection, 
with all its doubtful and marvelous circumstances. Were the 
tales of enchantment which he had read in romances realized in 
this extraordinary girl ? Could she transport herself from th(? 
walled and guarded Castle of Lochleven, moated 3 with its broad 
lake (towards which he cast back a look as if to ascertain it was 
still in existence), and watched with such scrupulous care as the 
safety of a nation demanded ? Could she surmount all these 
obstacles, and make such careless and dangerous use of her 
liberty as to engage herself publicly in a quarrel in a village 
fair ? Roland was unable to determine whether the exertions 
which it must have cost her to gain her freedom, or the use to 

1 In pharmacy, the sweet juice obtained from incisions made in the stem 
of certain kinds of ash. 2 Sneezing. 

3 Surrounded as if by a moat, or ditch filled with water. 


364 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

which she had put it, rendered her the most unaccountable 
creature. 

Lost in these meditations, he kept his gaze fixed on the subject 
of them, and in every casual motion discovered, or thought he 
discovered, something which reminded him still more strongly of 
Catherine Seyton. It occurred to him more than once, indeed, 
that he might be deceiving himself by exaggerating some casual 
likeness into absolute identity ; but then the meeting at the hos- 
telry of St. Michael’s returned to his mind, and it seemed in 
the highest degree improbable that, under such various circum- 
stances, mere imagination should twice have found opportunity 
to play him the selfsame trick. This time, however, he deter- 
mined to have his doubts resolved, and for this purpose he sat 
during the rest of the play like a greyhound in the slip , 1 ready 
to spring upon the hare the instant that she was started. The 
damsel, whom he watched attentively lest she should escape in 
the crowd when the spectacle was closed, sat as if perfectly 
unconscious that she was observed. But the worthy Doctor 
marked the direction of his eyes, and magnanimously suppressed 
his own inclination to become the Theseus to this Hippolyta , 2 in 
deference to the rights of hospitality, which enjoined him to 
forbear interference with the pleasurable pursuits of his young 
friend. He passed one or two formal gibes upon the fixed 
attention which the page paid to the unknown, and upon his 
own jealousy ; adding, however, that if both were to be pre- 
sented to the patient at once, he had little doubt she would 
think the younger man the sounder prescription. “ I fear me,” 
he added, “ we shall have no news of the knave Auchtermuchty 
for some time, since the vermin whom I sent after him seem to 
have proved corbie-messengers . 3 So you have an hour or two 

1 Leash (see Note 2, p. 1 1 7). 

2 Queen of the Amazons, a legendary race of warlike women who ex- 
cluded men from their state. She was given in marriage to Theseus, King of 
Athens, by Hercules, who had conquered her. 

3 Messengers who do not return, like the raven freed from the ark by 
Noah (see Gen, viii. 7). 


THE ABBOT. 


365 

on your hands, Master Page ; and as the minstrels are beginning 
to strike up, now that the play is ended, why, an you incline for 
a dance, yonder is the green, and there sits your partner. I trust 
you will hold me perfect in my diagnostics , 1 since I see with half 
an eye what disease you are sick of, and have administered a 
pleasing remedy. 

“ l Discernit sapiens res (as Chambers hath it) quas confundit asellus. ’ ” 2 

The page hardly heard the end of the learned adage, or the 
charge which the chamberlain gave him to be within reach, in 
case of the wains arriving suddenly and sooner than expected, 
so eager he was at once to shake himself free of his learned asso- 
ciate, and to satisfy his curiosity regarding the unknown damsel. 
Yet in the haste with which he made towards her, he found time 
to reflect that, in order to secure an opportunity of conversing 
with her in private, he must not alarm her at first accosting her. 
He therefore composed his manner and gait, and advancing with 
becoming self-confidence before three or four country fellows 
who were intent on the same design, but knew not so well how 
to put their request into shape, he acquainted her that he, as the 
deputy of the venerable chamberlain, requested the honor of her 
hand as a partner. 

“ The venerable chamberlain,” said the damsel frankly, reach- 
ing the page her hand, “ does very well to exercise this part of 
his privilege by deputy; and I suppose the laws of the revels 
leave me no choice but to accept of his faithful delegate.” 

“ Provided, fair damsel,” said the page, “ his choice of a dele- 
gate is not altogether distasteful to you.” 

“ Of that, fair sir,” replied the maiden, “ I will tell you more 
when we have danced the first measure.” 

Catherine Seyton had admirable skill in gestic lore , 3 and was 
sometimes called on to dance for the amusement of her royal 

1 Diagnosis. 

2 The wise man distinguishes things that the ass confuses. 

3 “ Gestic lore,” i.e., art of dancing. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


366 

mistress. Roland Graeme had often been a spectator of her skill, 
and sometimes, at the Queen’s command, Catherine’s partner on 
such occasions. He was, therefore, perfectly acquainted with 
Catherine’s mode of dancing; and observed that his present 
partner, in grace, in agility, in quickness of ear, and precision 
of execution, exactly resembled her, save that the Scottish jig 
which he now danced with her required a more violent and rapid 
motion, and more rustic agility, than the stately pavens, lavoltas, 
and courantoes which he had seen her execute in the chamber 
of Queen Mary. The active duties of the dance left him little 
time for reflection, and none for conversation ; but when their pas 
de deux 1 was finished, amidst the acclamations of the villagers, 
who had seldom witnessed such an exhibition, he took an oppor- 
tunity, when they yielded up the green to another couple, to use 
the privilege of a partner, and enter into conversation with the 
mysterious maiden, whom he still held by the hand. 

“ Fair partner, may I not crave the name of her who has 
graced me thus far ? ” 

“You may,” said the maiden; “but it is a question whether 
I shall answer you.” 

“ And why ? ” asked Roland. 

“ Because nobody gives anything for nothing, and you can tell 
me nothing in return which I care to hear.” 

“ Could I not tell you my name and lineage in exchange for 
yours ? ” returned Roland. 

“ No,” answered the maiden, “for you know little of either.” 

“ How ? ” said the page somewhat angrily. 

“Wrath you not 2 for the matter,” said the damsel; “I will 
show you in an instant that I know more of you than you do of 
yourself.” 

“ Indeed! ” answered Graeme ; “ for whom, then, do you take 
me?” 

“ For the wild falcon,” answered she, “ whom a dog brought 

1 Dance of two persons. 

2 “ Wrsth you not,” i.e., do not fall into a rage. 


THE ABBOT. 


367 

in his mouth to a certain castle, when he was but an unfledged 
eyas ; for the hawk whom men dare not let fly, lest he should 
check at game , 1 and pounce on carrion, whom folk must keep 
hooded till he has the proper light of his eyes, and can discover 
good from evil.” 

“ Well, be it so,” replied Roland Graeme. “ I guess at a part 
of your parable, fair mistress mine ; and perhaps I know as much 
of you as you do of me, and can well dispense with the infor- 
mation which you are so niggard in giving.” 

“ Prove that,” said the maiden, “ and I will give you credit 
for more penetration than I judged you to be gifted withal.” 

“ It shall be proved instantly,” said Roland Graeme. “ The 
first letter of your name is S, and the last, N.” 

“Admirable,” said his partner; “guess on.” 

“ It pleases you to-day,” continued Roland, “ to wear the 
snood 2 and kirtle, and perhaps you may be seen to-morrow in 
hat and feather, hose 3 and doublet.” 

“ In the clout ! 4 in the clout ! you have hit the very white,” 
said the damsel, suppressing a great inclination to laugh. 

“ You can switch men’s eyes out of their heads, as well as the 
heart out of their bosoms.” 

These last words were uttered in a low and tender tone, which, 
to Roland’s great mortification, and somewhat to his displeasure, 
was so far from allaying, that it greatly increased, his partner’s 
disposition to laughter. She could scarce compose herself while 
she replied, “ If you had thought my hand so formidable,” extri- 
cating it from his hold, “ you would not have grasped it so hard ; 
but I perceive you know me so fully that there is no occasion to 
show you my face.” 

1 “ Check at game,” i.e., forsake the game. 

2 A fillet worn by young women in Scotland to confine the hair. It was 
symbolic of maidenhood. 

3 Originally a man’s garment, covering legs and waist ; in the sixteenth 
century, the breeches, as distinguished from the stockings. 

4 In archery, the mark in the center of the target. 


3 68 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Fair Catherine,” said the page, “ he were unworthy ever to 
have seen you, far less to have dwelt so long in the same service, 
and under the same roof with you, who could mistake your air, 
your gesture, your step in walking or in dancing, the turn of your 
neck, the symmetry of your form. None could be so dull as not 
to recognize you by so many proofs ; but for me, I could swear 
even to that tress of hair that escapes from under your muffler.” 

“ And to the face, of course, which that muffler covers,” said 
the maiden, removing her veil, and in an instant endeavoring to 
replace it. She showed the features of Catherine ; but an unu- 
sual degree of petulant impatience inflamed them when, from 
some awkwardness in her management of the muffler, she was 
unable again to adjust it with that dexterity which was a prin- 
cipal accomplishment of the coquettes of the time. 

“ The fiend rive 1 the rag to tatters ! ” said the damsel, as the 
veil fluttered about her shoulders, with an accent so earnest and 
decided that it made the page start. He looked again at the 
damsel’s face, but the information which his eyes received was 
t® the same purport as before. He assisted her to adjust her 
muffler, and both were for an instant silent. The damsel spoke 
first, for Roland Graeme was overwhelmed with surprise at the 
contrarieties which Catherine Seyton seemed to include in her 
person and character. 

“You are surprised,” said the damsel to him, “at what you 
see and hear. But the times which make females men are least 
of all fitted for men to become women ; yet you yourself are in 
danger of such a change.” 

“ I in danger of becoming effeminate ! ” said the page. 

“Yes, you, for all the boldness of your reply,” said the damsel. 
“ When you should hold fast your religion, because it is assailed 
on all sides by rebels, traitors, and heretics, you let it glide out 
of your breast like water grasped in the hand. If you are driven 
from the faith of your fathers from fear of a traitor, is not that 
womanish ? If you are cajoled by the cunning arguments of a 


1 Tear. 


THE ABBOT. 


369 

trumpeter of heresy, or the praises of a puritanic old woman, is 
not that womanish? If you are bribed by the hope of spoil 
and preferment, is not that womanish ? And when you wonder 
at my venting a threat or an execration, should you not wonder 
at yourself, who, pretending to a gentle name, and aspiring to 
knighthood, can be at the same time cowardly, silly, and self- 
interested ?” 

“ I would that a man would bring such a charge,” said the 
page ; “he should see, ere his life was a minute older, whether 
he had cause to term me coward or no.” 

“ Beware of such big words,” answered the maiden ; “ you 
said but anon that I sometimes wear hose and doublet.” 

“ But remain still Catherine Seyton, wear what you list,” said 
the page, endeavoring again to possess himself of her hand. 

“You indeed are pleased to call me so,” replied the maiden, 
evading his intention, “ but I have many other names besides.” 

“ And will you not reply to that,” said the page, “ by which 
you are distinguished beyond every other maiden in Scotland ? ” 

The damsel, unallured by his praises, still kept aloof, and sung 
with gayety a verse from an old ballad, — 

“ ‘Oh, some do call me Jack, sweet love, 

And some do call me Gill ; 

But when I ride to Holyrood, 

My name is Willful Will.’” 

“ Willful Will ! ” exclaimed the page impatiently ; “ say rather 
Will o’ the Wisp, Jack with the Lantern , 1 for never was such a 
deceitful or wandering meteor ! ” 

“ If I be such,” replied the maiden, “ I ask no fools to follow 
me. If they do so, it is at their own pleasure, and must be on 
their own proper peril.” 

“ Nay, but, dearest Catherine,” said Roland Graeme, “ be for 
one instant serious.” 

1 Names given to the light formed by exhalations from the earth, usually 
seen moving capriciously above damp ground. 

24 


370 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ If you will call me your dearest Catherine, when I have given 
you so many names to choose upon,” replied the damsel, “ I would 
ask you how, supposing me for two or three hours of my life escaped 
from yonder tower, you have the cruelty to ask me to be serious 
during the only merry moments I have seen perhaps for months? ” 

“ Ay, but, fair Catherine, there are moments of deep and true 
feeling, which are worth ten thousand years of the liveliest mirth ; 
and such was that of yesterday, when you so nearly ” — 

“ So nearly what ? ” demanded the damsel hastily. 

“ When you approached your lips so near to the sign you had 
traced on my forehead.” 

“ Mother of Heaven ! ” exclaimed she in a yet fiercer tone, 
and with a more masculine manner than she had yet exhibited, 
“ Catherine Seyton approach her lips to a man’s brow, and thou 
that man ! Vassal, thou liest ! ” 

The page stood astonished ; but, conceiving he had alarmed 
the damsel’s delicacy by alluding to the enthusiasm of a moment, 
and the manner in which she had expressed it, he endeavored to 
falter forth an apology. His excuses, though he was unable to 
give them any regular shape, were accepted by his companion, 
who had indeed suppressed her indignation after its first explosion. 
“ Speak no more on’t,” she said. “And now let us part ; our conver- 
sation may attract more notice than is convenient for either of us.” 

“ Nay, but allow me at least to follow you to some sequestered 
place.” 

“ You dare not,” replied the maiden. 

“ How ? ” said the youth, “ dare not ? Where is it you dare 
go, where I dare not follow ? ” 

“You fear a will o’ the wisp,” said the damsel ; “how would you 
face a fiery dragon, with an enchantress mounted on its back ? ” 

“ Like Sir Eger, Sir Grime, or Sir Grevsteil,” 1 said the page ; 
“ but be there such toys to be seen here ? ” 

1 Sir Eger, Sir Grahame (Sir Grime), and Sir Greysteil were the three 
heroes of an old English metrical romance called by their names, and very 
popular in the sixteenth century. 


THE ABBOT. 


37 * 


“I go to Mother Nicneven’s,” answered the maid; “and she 
is witch enough to rein the horned Devil, with a red silk thread 
for a bridle, and a rowan-tree 1 switch for a whip.” 

“ I will follow you,” said the page. 

“ Let it be at some distance,” said the maiden. 

And wrapping her mantle round her with more success than 
on her former attempt, she mingled with the throng, and walked 
towards the village, heedfully followed by Roland Graeme at 
some distance, and under every precaution which he could use 
to prevent his purpose from being observed. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 



the entrance of the principal, or indeed, so to speak, the 


ii only street in Kinross, the damsel, whose steps were pur- 
sued by Roland Graeme, cast a glance behind her, as if to be 
certain he had not lost trace of her, and then plunged down a 
very narrow lane which ran betwixt two rows of poor and ruin- 
ous cottages. She paused for a second at the door of one of 
those miserable tenements, again cast her eye up the lane towards 
Roland, then lifted the latch, opened the door, and disappeared 
from his view. 

With whatever haste the page followed her example, the diffi- 
culty which he found in discovering the trick of the latch, which 
did not work quite in the usual manner, and in pushing open the 
door, which did not yield to his first effort, delayed for a minute 
or two his entrance into the cottage. A dark and smoky passage 
led, as usual, betwixt the exterior wall of the house and the kal- 
ian , or clay wall, which served as a partition betwixt it and the 
interior. At the end of this passage, and through the partition, 
was a door leading into the ben, or inner chamber of the cottage, 
and when Roland Graeme’s hand was upon the latch of this door, 


1 Mountain ash. 


37 2 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


a female voice pronounced, “ Benedictus qui ve?iiat in nomi?ie 
Domini; daninandns qui in nomine inimici 1 On entering the 
apartment, he perceived the figure which the chamberlain had 
pointed out to him as Mother Nicneven, seated beside the lowly 
hearth. But there was no other person in the room. Roland 
Graeme gazed around in surprise at the disappearance of Cath- 
erine Seyton, without paying much regard to the supposed sor- 
ceress, until she attracted and riveted his regard by the tone in 
which she asked him, “ What seekest thou here ? ” 

“I seek,” said the page with much embarrassment, “I seek” — 

But his answer was cut short when the old woman, drawing 
her huge gray eyebrows sternly together, with a frown which 
knitted her brow into a thousand wrinkles, arose, and, erecting 
herself up to her full natural size, tore the kerchief from her 
head, and seizing Roland by the arm, made two strides across 
the floor of the apartment to a small window, through which the 
light fell full on her face and showed the astonished youth the 
countenance of Magdalen Graeme. “Yes, Roland,” she said, 
“ thine eyes deceive thee not ; they show thee truly the features 
of her whom thou hast thyself deceived, whose wine thou hast 
turned into gall, her bread of joyfulness into bitter poison, her 
hope into the blackest despair. It is she who now demands of 
thee, what seekest thou here ? She whose heaviest sin towards 
Heaven hath been that she loved thee even better than the weal 
of the whole Church, and could not without reluctance surrender 
thee even in the cause of God. She now asks you, what seekest 
thou here ? ” • 

While she spoke, she kept her broad black eye riveted on the 
youth’s face, with the expression with which the eagle regards 
his prey ere he tears it to pieces. Roland felt himself at the 
moment incapable either of reply or evasion. This extraordi- 
nary enthusiast had preserved over him in some measure the 
ascendency which she had acquired during his childhood ; and, 

1 Blessed be he who comes in the name of the Lord ; accursed, he who 
comes in the name of an enemy. 


THE ABBOT. 


373 


besides, he knew the violence of her passions and her impa- 
tience of contradiction, and was sensible that almost any reply 
which he could make was likely to throw her into an ecstasy of 
rage. He was therefore silent ; and Magdalen Graeme pro- 
ceeded with increasing enthusiasm in her apostrophe : “ Once 
more, what seek’st thou, false boy ? seek’st thou the honor thou 
hast renounced, the faith thou hast abandoned, the hopes thou 
hast destroyed ? Or didst thou seek me, the sole protectress of 
thy youth, the only parent whom thou hast known, that thou 
mayest trample on my gray hairs, even as thou hast already 
trampled on the best wishes of my heart ? ” 

“ Pardon me, mother,” said Roland Graeme ; “ but, in truth 
and reason, I deserve not your blame. I have been treated 
amongst you, even by yourself, my revered parent, as well as by 
others, as one who lacked the common attributes of free will and 
human reason, or was at least deemed unfit to exercise them. A 
land of enchantment have I been led into, and spells have been 
cast around me ; every one has met me in disguise ; every one 
has spoken to me in parables ; I have been like one who walks 
in a weary and bewildering dream ; and now you blame me that 
I have not the sense, and judgment, and steadiness of a waking, 
and a disenchanted, and a reasonable man, who knows what he 
is doing, and wherefore he does it. If one must walk with 
masks and specters, who waft themselves from place to place as 
it were in vision rather than reality, it might shake the soundest 
faith and turn the wisest head. I sought, since I must needs 
avow my folly, the same Catherine Seyton with whom you made 
me first acquainted, and whom I most strangely find in this vil- 
lage of Kinross, gayest among the revelers, when I had but just 
left her in the well-guarded Castle of Lochleven, the sad attend- 
ant of an imprisoned Queen. I sought her, and in her place I 
find you, my mother, more strangely disguised than even she is.” 

“ And what hadst thou to do with Catherine Seyton ? ” said 
the matron sternly. “ Is this a time or a world to follow maid- 
ens, or to dance around a Maypole ? When the trumpet sum- 


374 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


mons every true-hearted Scotsman around the standard of the 
true Sovereign, shalt thou be found loitering in a lady’s bower ? ” 

“No, by Heaven, nor imprisoned in the rugged walls of an 
island castle ! ” answered Roland Graeme. “ I would the blast 
were to sound even now, for I fear that nothing less loud will 
dispel the chimerical visions by which I am surrounded.” 

“ Doubt not that it will be winded,” said the matron, “ and 
that so fearfully loud that Scotland will never hear the like until 
the last and loudest blast of all shall announce to mountain and 
to valley that time is no more. Meanwhile, be thou but brave 
and constant. Serve God, and honor thy Sovereign. Abide by 
thy religion. I cannot — I will not — I dare not ask thee the 
truth of the terrible surmises I have heard touching thy falling 
away. Perfect not that accursed sacrifice, — and yet, even at this 
late hour, thou mayest be what I have hoped for the son of my 
dearest hope — what say I ? the son of my hope ? Thou shalt 
be the hope of Scotland, her boast and her honor ! Even thy 
wildest and most foolish wishes may perchance be fulfilled. I 
might blush to mingle meaner motives with the noble guerdon I 
hold out to thee. It shames me, being such as I am, to mention 
the idle passions of youth, save with contempt and the purpose 
of censure. But we must bribe children to wholesome medi- 
cine by the offer of cates, and youth to honorable achievement 
with the promise of pleasure. Mark me, therefore, Roland. 
The love of Catherine Seyton will follow him only who shall 
achieve the freedom of her mistress ; and believe, it may be one 
day in thine own power to be that happy lover. Cast, therefore, 
away doubt and fear, and prepare to do what religion calls for, 
what thy country demands of thee, what thy duty as a subject 
and as a servant alike require at your hand ; and be assured, 
even the idlest or wildest wishes of thy heart will be most readily 
attained by following the call of thy duty.” 

As she ceased speaking, a double knock was heard against the 
inner door. The matron, hastily adjusting her muffler, and re- 
suming her chair by the hearth, demanded who was there. 


THE ABBOT. 


375 


“ Salve in nomine sancto ,” 1 was answered from without. 

“ Salvete et vos” 2 answered Magdalen Graeme. 

And a man entered in the ordinary dress of a nobleman’s re- 
tainer, wearing at his girdle a sword and buckler. “ I sought 
you,” said he, “ my mother, and him whom I see with you.” 
Then, addressing himself to Roland Graeme, he said to him, 
“ Hast thou not a packet from George Douglas ? ” 

“ I have,” said the page, suddenly recollecting that which had 
been committed to his charge in the morning, “ but I may not 
deliver it to any one without some token that they have a right 
to ask it.” 

“You say well,” replied the serving man, and whispered into 
his ear, “ The packet which I ask is the report to his father ; 
will this token suffice ? ” 

“ It will,” replied the page, and, taking the packet from his 
bosom, gave it to the man. 

“ I will, return presently,” said the serving man, and left the 
cottage. 

Roland had now sufficiently recovered his surprise to accost 
his relative in turn, and request to know the reason why he 
found her in so precarious a disguise and a place so dangerous. 
“ You cannot be ignorant,” he said, “of the hatred that the Lady 
of Lochleven bears to those of your — that is of our religion. 
Your present disguise lays you open to suspicions of a different 
kind, but inferring no less hazard ; and whether as a Catholic, or 
as a sorceress, or as a friend to the unfortunate Queen, you are 
in equal danger if apprehended within the bounds of the Doug- 
las ; and in the chamberlain who administers their authority, you 
have, for his own reasons, an enemy, and a bitter one.” 

“ I know it,” said the matron, her eyes kindling with triumph ; 
“ I know that, vain of his school craft and carnal wisdom, Luke 
Lundin views with jealousy and hatred the blessings which the 
saints have conferred on my prayers, and on the holy relics, 
before the touch, nay, before the bare presence, of which, disease 
1 Hail, in the Holy Name! 2 Hail to you, also! 


S/A WALTER SCOTT. 


37 6 

and death have so often been known to retreat. I know he 
would rend and tear me ; but there is a chain and a muzzle on 
the bandog that shall restrain his fury, and the Master’s servant 
shall not be offended by him until the Master’s work is wrought. 
When that hour comes, let the shadows of the evening descend 
on me in thunder and in tempest ; the time shall be welcome 
that relieves my eyes from seeing guilt, and my ears from listen- 
ing to blasphemy. Do thou but be constant ; play thy part as I 
have played, and will play, mine, and my release shall be like 
that of a blessed martyr whose ascent to heaven angels hail 
with psalm and song, while earth pursues him with hiss and with 
execration.” 

As she concluded, the serving man again entered the cottage, 
and said, “All is well ! the time holds for to-morrow night.” 

“ What time ? what holds ? ” exclaimed Roland Graeme ; “ I 
trust I have given the Douglas’s packet to no wrong” — 

“ Content yourself, young man,” answered the serving man ; 
“ thou hast my word and token.” 

“ I know not if the token be right,” said the page ; “ and I 
care not much for the word of a stranger.” 

“ What,” said the matron, “ although thou mayest have given 
a packet delivered to thy charge by one of the Queen’s rebels 
into the hand of a loyal subject ? There were no great mistake 
in that, thou hot-brained boy.” 

“ By St. Andrew, there were foul mistake, though,” answered 
the page. “ It is the very spirit of my duty, in this first stage of 
chivalry, to be faithful to my trust ; and had the Devil given me 
a message to discharge, I would not (so I had plighted my faith 
to the contrary) betray his counsel to an angel of light.” 

“Now, by the love I once bore thee,” said the matron, “I 
could slay thee with mine own hand, when I hear thee talk of a 
dearer faith being due to rebels and heretics than thou owest to 
thy Church and thy Prince ! ” 

“ Be patient, my good sister,” said the serving man ; “ I will 
give him such reasons as shall counterbalance the scruples which 


THE ABBOT. 


377 


beset him. The spirit is honorable, though now it may be mis- 
timed and misplaced. — Follow me, young man.” 

“ Ere I go to call this stranger to a reckoning,” said the page 
to the matron, “is there nothing I can do for your comfort and 
safety ? ” 

“Nothing,” she replied, “nothing, save what will lead more 
to thine own honor. The saints, who have protected me thus far, 
will lend me succor as I need it. Tread the path of glory that 
is before thee, and only think of me as the creature on earth who 
will be most delighted to hear of thy fame. Follow the stranger ; 
he hath tidings for you that you little expect.” 

The stranger remained on the threshold as if waiting for 
Roland, and as soon as he saw him put himself in motion, he 
moved on before at a quick pace. Diving still deeper down the 
lane, Roland perceived that it was now bordered by buildings 
upon the one side only, and that the other was fenced by a high 
old wall, over which some trees extended their branches. De- 
scending a good way farther, they came to a small door in the 
wall. Roland’s guide paused, looked around for an instant to 
see if any one were within sight, then, taking a key from his 
pocket, opened the door and entered, making a sign to Roland 
Graeme to follow him. He did so, and the stranger locked the 
door carefully on the inside. During this operation the page had 
a moment to look around, and perceived that he was in a small 
orchard very trimly kept. 

The stranger led him through an alley or two, shaded by trees 
loaded with summer fruit, into a pleached 1 arbor, where, taking 
the turf seat which was on the one side, he motioned to Roland 
to occupy that which was opposite to him, and, after a momen- 
tary silence, opened the conversation as follows: “You have 
asked a better warrant than the word of a mere stranger, to sat- 
isfy you that I have the authority of George of Douglas for pos- 
sessing myself of the packet intrusted to your charge ? ” 

“It is precisely the point on which I demand reckoning of 

l Closely walled by the branches of living shrubs. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


37 8 

you,” said Roland. “ I fear I have acted hastily ; if so, I must 
redeem my error as I best may.” 

“ You hold me, then, as a perfect stranger ? ” said the man. 
“ Look at my face more attentively, and see if the features do 
not resemble those of a man much known to you formerly.” 

Roland gazed attentively ; but the ideas recalled to his mind 
were so inconsistent with the mean and servile dress of the person 
before him, that he did not venture to express the opinion which 
he was irresistibly induced to form. 

“ Yes, my son,” said the stranger, observing his embarrassment, 
“ you do indeed see before you the unfortunate Father Ambrosius, 
who once accounted his ministry crowned in your preservation 
from the snares of heresy, but who is now condemned to lament 
thee as a castaway ! ” 

Roland Graeme’s kindness of heart was at least equal to his 
vivacity of temper. He could not bear to see his ancient and 
honored master and spiritual guide in a situation which inferred 
a change of fortune so melancholy, but, throwing himself at his 
feet, grasped his knees and wept aloud. 

“ What mean these tears, my son ? ” said the Abbot. “ If they 
are shed for your own sins and follies, surely they are gracious 
showers, and may avail thee much ; but weep not if they fall on 
my account. You indeed see the Superior of the community of 
St. Mary’s in the dress of a poor sworder, who gives his master 
the use of his blade and buckler, and, if needful, of his life, for a 
coarse livery coat, and four marks by the year. But such a garb 
suits the time, and, in the period of the Church militant, as well 
becomes her prelates as staff, miter, and crosier in the days of 
the Church’s triumph.” 

“By what fate,” said the page; — “and yet why,” added he, 
checking himself, “ need I ask ? Catherine Seyton in some sort 
prepared me for this. But that the change should be so absolute 
— the destruction so complete ! ” 

“Yes, my son,” said the Abbot Ambrosius, “thine own eyes 
beheld, in my unworthy elevation to the Abbot’s stall, the last 


THE A BE OT. 


379 

especial act of holy solemnity which shall be seen in the church 
of St. Mary’s until it shall please Heaven to turn back the cap- 
tivity of the Church. For the present, the shepherd is smitten, 
ay, well-nigh to the earth ; the flock are scattered, and the 
shrines of saints and martyrs, and pious benefactors to the Church, 
are given to the owls of night and the satyrs 1 of the desert.” 

“ And your brother, the Knight of Avenel, could he do nothing 
for your protection ? ” 

“ He himself hath fallen under the suspicion of the ruling 
powers,” said the Abbot, “ who are as unjust to their friends as 
they are cruel to their enemies. I could not grieve at it, did I 
hope it might estrange him from his cause ; but I know the soul 
of Halbert, and I rather fear it will drive him to prove his fidelity 
to their unhappy cause by some deed which may be yet more 
destructive to the Church, and more offensive to Heaven. 
Enough of this; and now to the business of our meeting. I 
trust you will hold it sufficient if I pass my word to you that the 
packet of which you were lately the bearer was designed for my 
hands by George of Douglas ? ” 

“Then,” said the page, “is George of Douglas” — 

“ A true friend to his Queen, Roland ; and will soon, I trust, 
have his eyes opened to the errors of his (miscalled) church.” 

“ But what is he to his father, and what to the Lady of Loch- 
leven, who has been as a mother to him ? ” said the page impa- 
tiently. 

“ The best friend to both, in time and through eternity,” said 
the Abbot, “ if he shall prove the happy instrument for redeem- 
ing the evil they have wrought, and are still working.” 

“ Still,” said the page, “ I like not that good service which 
begins in breach of trust.” 

“I blame not thy scruples, my son,” said the Abbot; “but 
the time which has wrenched asunder the allegiance of Christians 
to the Church, and of subjects to their King, has dissolved all the 

1 A silvan deity in classical mythology, often represented with horns, and 
legs like those of a goat. 


S/ R WALTER SCOTT. 


380 

lesser bonds of society ; and, in such days, mere human ties must 
no more restrain our progress than the brambles and briers which 
catch hold of his garments should delay the path of a pilgrim 
who travels to pay his vows.” 

“ But, my father,” said the youth, and then stopped short in a 
hesitating manner. 

“ Speak on, my son,” said the Abbot ; “ speak without fear.” 

“ Let me not olfend you, then,” said Roland, “ when I say that 
it is even this which our adversaries charge against us when they 
say that, shaping the means according to the end, we are willing 
to commit great moral evil in order that we may work out even- 
tual good.” 

“ The heretics have played their usual arts on you, my son,” 
said the Abbot ; “ they would willingly deprive us of the power 
of acting wisely and secretly, though their possession of superior 
force forbids our contending with them on the terms of equality. 
They have reduced us to a state of * exhausted weakness, and 
now would fain proscribe the means by which weakness, through 
all the range of nature, supplies the lack of strength, and defends 
itself against its potent enemies. As well might the hound say 
to the hare, * Use not these wily turns to escape me, but contend 
with me in pitched battle,’ as the armed and powerful heretic 
demand of the downtrodden and oppressed Catholic to lay aside 
the wisdom of the serpent, by which alone they may again hope 
to raise up the Jerusalem 1 over which they weep, and which it is 
their duty to rebuild. But more of this hereafter. And now, 
my son, I command thee on thy faith to tell me truly and par- 
ticularly what has chanced to thee since we parted, and what 
is the present state of thy conscience. Thy relation, our sister 
Magdalen, is a woman of excellent gifts, blessed with a zeal which 
neither doubt nor danger can quench ; but yet it is not a zeal 

1 Jerusalem, like Mount Zion, was often spoken of as representing the 
Church of God. The restoration of the Catholic Church is compared to the 
rebuilding of Jerusalem about 446 B.C., after the long captivity of the Jews 
in Babylon (see Nehemiah i.-iv.). 


THE ABBOT \ 


38i 

altogether according to knowledge ; wherefore, my son, I would 
willingly be myself thy interrogator and thy counselor in these 
days of darkness and stratagem.” 

With the respect which he owed to his first instructor, Roland 
Graeme went rapidly through the events which the reader is ac- 
quainted with ; and while he disguised not from the prelate the 
impression which had been made on his mind by the arguments 
of the preacher Henderson, he accidentally and almost involun- 
tarily gave his father confessor to understand the influence which 
Catherine Seyton had acquired over his mind. 

“ It is with joy I discover, my dearest son,” replied the Abbot, 
“ that I have arrived in time to arrest thee on the verge of the 
precipice to which thou wert approaching. These doubts of 
which you complain are the weeds which naturally grow up in a 
strong soil, and require the careful hand of the husbandman to 
eradicate them. Thou must study a little volume, which I will 
impart to thee in fitting time, in which, by Our Lady’s grace, I 
have placed in somewhat a clearer light than heretofore, the 
points debated betwixt us and these heretics, who sow among the 
wheat the same tares which were formerly privily mingled with 
the good seed by the Albigenses 1 and the Lollards . 2 But it is 
not by reason alone that you must hope to conquer these insinu- 
ations of the enemy ; it is sometimes by timely resistance, but 
oftener by jimely flight. You must shut your ears against the 
arguments of the heresiarch, when circumstances permit you not 
to withdraw the foot from his company. Anchor your thoughts 
upon the service of Our Lady, while he is expending in vain his 
heretical sophistry. Are you unable to maintain your attention 

1 Members of several sects in the south of France, which, in the twelfth 
and thirteenth centuries, revolted against the Church of Rome, and were per- 
secuted almost to extinction. They were named from Albi, a city of Lan- 
guedoc, where they were dominant. 

2 The English followers of Wycliffe, who to some extent anticipated Prot- 
estantism in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and were severely per- 
secuted. The name, from the middle English lollard, (one who mumbles 
prayers), was confused with toiler (a vagabond). 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


382 

on heavenly objects, think rather on thine own earthly pleasures 
than tempt Providence and the saints by giving an attentive ear 
to the erring doctrine. Think of thy hawk, thy hound, thine 
angling rod, thy sword and buckler, — think even of Catherine 
Seyton, rather than give thy soul to the lessons of the tempter. 
Alas! my son, believe not that, worn out with woes, and bent 
more by affliction than by years, I have forgotten the effect of 
beauty over the heart of youth. Even in the watches of the 
night, broken by thoughts of an imprisoned Queen, a distracted 
kingdom, a church laid waste and ruinous, come other thoughts 
than these suggest, and feelings which belonged to an earlier and 
happier course of life. Be it so, we must bear our load as we 
may ; and not in vain are these passions implanted in our breast, 
since, as now in thy case, they may come in aid of resolutions 
founded upon higher grounds. Yet beware, my son ; this Cath- 
erine Seyton is the daughter of one of Scotland’s proudest as 
well as most worthy barons, and thy state may not suffer thee, 
as yet, to aspire so high. But thus it is ; Heaven works its pur- 
poses through human folly, and Douglas’s ambitious affection, as 
well as thine, shall contribute alike to the desired end.” 

“ How, my father ? ” said the page, “ my suspicions are then 
true! Douglas loves ” — 

“ He does ; and with a love as much misplaced as thine own. 
But beware of him — cross him not — thwart him not.” 

“ Let him not cross or thwart me,” said the page ; “ for I will 
not yield him an inch of way, had he in his body the soul of 
every Douglas that has lived since the time of the ‘ dark gray 
man.’ ” 1 

“ Nay, have patience, idle boy, and reflect that your suit can 
never interfere with his. But a truce with these vanities, and let 
us better employ the little space which still remains to us to spend 
together. To thy knees, my son, and resume the long interrupted 
duty of confession, that, happen what may, the hour may find 
in thee a faithful Catholic, relieved from the guilt of his sins by 
1 See Note 2, p. 42. 


THE ABBOT. 


383 

authority of the Holy Church. Could I but tell thee, Roland, 
the joy with which I see thee once more put thy knee to its best 
and fittest use ! Quid dicis , mi Jili ?” 1 

“ Culpas measP 2 answered the youth ; and according to the 
ritual of the Catholic Church, he confessed and received absolu- 
tion, to which was annexed the condition of performing certain 
enjoined penances. 

When this religious ceremony was ended, an old man, in the 
dress of a peasant of the better order, approached the arbor and 
greeted the Abbot. “ I have waited the conclusion of your de- 
votions,” he said, “ to tell you the youth' is sought after by the 
chamberlain, and it were well he should appear without delay. 
Holy St. Francis ! if the halberdiers were to seek him here, they 
might sorely wrong my garden plot. They are in office, and reck 3 
not where they tread, were each step on jessamine and clove gilly- 
flowers.” 4 

“ We will speed him forth, my brother,” said the Abbot ; “ but 
alas! is it possible that such trifles should live in your mind at a 
crisis so awful as that which is now impending ? ” 

“ Reverend father,” answered the proprietor of the garden, for 
such he was, “ how oft shall I pray you to keep your high counsel 
for high minds like your own ? What have you required of me 
that I have not granted unresistingly, though with an aching 
heart ? ” 

“ I would require of you to be yourself, my brother,” said the 
Abbot Ambrosius ; “to remember what you were, and to what 
your early vows have bound you.” 

“ I tell thee, Father Ambrosius,” replied the gardener, “ the 
patience of the best saint that ever said paternoster would be 
exhausted by the trials to which you have put mine. What I 
have been, it skills 5 not to speak at present. No one knows better 
than yourself, father, what I renounced, in hopes to find ease and 
quiet during the remainder of my days ; and no one better knows 

l What do you say, my son? 2 My sins. 

3 Heed ; regard. 4 Clove pinks, or carnations. 


5 Matters. 


S/R WALTER SCOTT. 


384 




how my retreat has been invaded, my fruit trees broken, my flower 
beds trodden down, my quiet frightened away, and my very sleep 
driven from my bed, since ever this poor Queen, God bless her, 
hath been sent to Lochleven. I blame her not ; being a prisoner, 
it is natural she should wish to get out from so vile a hold, where 
there is scarcely any place even for a tolerable garden, and where 
the water mists, as I am told, blight all the early blossoms. I 
say, I cannot blame her for endeavoring for her freedom ; but 
why I should be drawn into the scheme ; why my harmless arbors, 
that I planted with my own hands, should become places of privy 
conspiracy ; why my little quay, which I built for my own fishing 
boat, should have become a haven for secret embarkations ; in 
short, why I should be dragged into matters where both heading 1 
and hanging are like to be the issue, I profess to you, reverend 
father, I am totally ignorant.” 

“ My brother,” answered the Abbot, “ you are wise, and ought 
to know ” — 

“ I am not — I am not — I am not wise,” replied the horticul- 
turist pettishly, and stopping his ears with his fingers. “ I was 
never called wise but when men wanted to engage me in some 
action of notorious folly.” 

“ But, my good brother ” — said the Abbot. 

“ I am not good, neither,” said the peevish gardener ; “ I am 
neither good nor wise. Had I been wise, you would not have 
been admitted here ; and were I good, methinks I should send 
you elsewhere to hatch plots for destroying the quiet of the 
country. What signifies disputing about queen or king, when 
men may sit at peace sub umbra vitis sui ? 2 And so would I do, 
after the precept of Holy Writ, were I, as you term me, wise 
or good. But such as I am, my neck is in the yoke, and you 
make me draw what weight you list. — Follow me, youngster. 
This reverend father, who makes in his jackman’s dress nearly 
as reverend a figure as I myself, will agree with me in one thing 
at least, and that is, that you have been long enough here.” 

1 Beheading. 2 Under the shade of their own vine. 


THE ABBOT. 


385 

“ Follow the good father, Roland,” said the Abbot, “ and re- 
member my words ; a day is approaching that will try the temper 
of all true Scotsmen. May thy heart prove faithful as the steel 
of thy blade ! ” 

The page bowed in silence, and they parted ; the gardener, 
notwithstanding his advanced age, walking on before him very 
briskly, and muttering as he went, partly to himself, partly to his 
companion, after the manner of old men of weakened intellects. 
“ When I was great,” thus ran his maundering, “ and had my 
mule and my ambling palfrey at command, I warrant you I could 
have as well flown through the air as have walked at this pace. 
I had my gout and my rheumatics, and a hundred things besides, 
that hung fetters on my heels ; and now, thanks to Our Lady, 
and honest labor, I can walk with any good man of my age in 
the kingdom of Fife. Fie upon it, that experience should be so 
long in coming ! ” 

As he was thus muttering, his eye fell upon the branch of a 
pear tree which drooped down for want of support, and at once 
forgetting his haste, the old man stopped and set seriously about 
binding it up. Roland Graeme had both readiness, neatness of 
hand, and good nature in abundance ; he immediately lent his 
aid, and in a minute or two the bough was supported, and tied 
up in a way perfectly satisfactory to the old man, who looked at 
it with great complaisance. “They are bergamots,” he said, 
“ and if you will come ashore in autumn, you shall taste of them. 
The like are not in Lochleven Castle. The garden there is a 
poor pinfold , 1 and the gardener, Hugh Houkham, hath little 
skill of his craft ; so come ashore, Master Page, in autumn, when 
you would eat pears. But what am I thinking of ! Ere that 
time come, they may have given thee sour pears for plums. Take 
an old man’s advice, youth, one who hath seen many days, and 
sat in higher places than thou canst hope for ; bend thy sword 
into a pruning hook, and make a dibble 2 of thy dagger; thy 

1 An inclosure, or a pound, for animals. 

2 A pointed tool for making holes in the ground for planting. 

25 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


386 

days shall be the longer, and thy health the better for it ; and 
come to aid me in my garden, and I will teach thee the real 
French fashion of imping , which the Southron call grading . 1 Do 
this, and do it without loss of time, for there is a whirlwind 
coming over the land, and only those shall escape who lie too 
much beneath the storm to have their boughs broken by it.” 

So saying, he dismissed Roland Graeme through a different 
door from that by which he had entered, signed a cross and 
pronounced a benedicite as they parted, and then, still muttering 
to himself, retired into the garden, and locked the door on the 
inside. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

D ISMISSED from the old man’s garden, Roland Graeme found 
that a grassy paddock, in which sauntered two cows, the 
property of the gardener, still separated him from the village. 
He paced through it, lost in meditation upon the words of the 
Abbot. Father Ambrosius had, with success enough, exerted 
over him that powerful influence which the guardians and in- 
structors of our childhood possess over our more mature youth. 
And yet, when Roland looked back upon what the father had 
said, he could not but suspect that he had rather sought to evade 
entering into the controversy betwixt the churches, than to repel 
the objections and satisfy the doubts which the lectures of Hen- 
derson had excited. “ For this he had no time,” said the page 
to himself, “ neither have I now calmness and learning sufficient 
to judge upon points of such magnitude. Besides, it were base 
to quit my faith while the wind of fortune sets against it, unless 
I were so placed that my conversion, should it take place, were 

1 Grafting. The process of inserting a shoot from one tree in the stem 
of another, usually one of inferior quality, so as to use the strength of the 
poorer tree for the production of good fruit. 


THE ABBOT. 


387 

free as light from the imputation of self-interest. I was bred a 
Catholic ; bred in the faith of Bruce and Wallace. I will hold 
that faith till time and reason shall convince me that it errs. I 
will serve this poor Queen as a subject should serve an imprisoned 
and wronged sovereign. They who placed me in her service have 
to blame themselves, who sent me hither, a gentleman, trained in 
the paths of loyalty and honor, when they should have sought 
out some truckling, cogging, double-dealing knave, who would 
have been at once the observant page of the Queen, and the ob- 
sequious spy of her enemies. Since I must choose betwixt aiding 
and betraying her, I will decide as becomes her servant and her 
subject; but Catherine Seyton — Catherine Seyton, beloved by 
Douglas, and holding me on or off as the intervals of her leisure 
or caprice will permit, — how shall I deal with the coquette ? 
By Heaven, when I next have an opportunity, she shall render 
me some reason for her conduct, or I will break with her forever ! ” 

As he formed this doughty resolution, he crossed the stile which 
led out of the little inclosure, and was almost immediately greeted 
by Dr. Luke Lundin. * 

“Ha! my most excellent young friend,” said the Doctor, 
“from whence come you? but I note the place. Yes, neighbor 
Blinkhoolie’s garden is a pleasant rendezvous, and you are of the 
age when lads look after a bonny lass with one eye, and a dainty 
plum with another. But hey! you look subtriste 1 and melan- 
cholic. I fear the maiden has proved cruel, or the plums unripe ; 
and surely, I think neighbor Blinkhoolie’s damsons can scarcely 
have been well preserved throughout the winter. He spares the 
saccharine juice on his confects. But courage, man, there are 
more Kates 2 in Kinross ; and for the immature fruit, a glass of 
my double-distilled aqua mirabilis, — probation est .” 4 

The page darted an ireful glance at the facetious physician ; 
but presently recollecting that the name Kate, which had pro- 
voked his displeasure, was probably but introduced for the sake 

l Somewhat downcast. 2 Perhaps a pun on cates. 

3 Wonderful water ; spirits of wine. * It has been proved efficacious. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


388 

of alliteration, he suppressed his wrath, and only asked if the 
wains had been heard of. 

“ Why, I have been seeking for you this hour, to tell you that 
the stuff is in your boat, and that the boat waits your pleasure. 
Auchtermuchty had only fallen into company with an idle knave 
like himself, and a stoup of aquavitae 1 between them. Your boat- 
men lie on their oars, and there have already been made two 
wefts 2 from the warder’s turret to intimate that those in the castle 
are impatient for your return. Yet there is time for you to take 
a slight repast ; and, as your friend and physician, I hold it unfit 
you should face the water breeze with an empty stomach.” 

Roland Graeme had nothing for it but to return, with such 
cheer as he might, to the place where his boat was moored on 
the beach, and resisted all offer of refreshment, although the Doc- 
tor promised that he should prelude the collation with a gentle 
appetizer, a decoction of herbs gathered and distilled by himself. 
Indeed, as Roland had not forgotten the contents of his morning 
cup, it is possible that the recollection induced him to stand firm 
in his refusal of all food to which such an unpalatable preface 
was the preliminary. As they passed towards the boat (for the 
ceremonious politeness of the worthy chamberlain would not per- 
mit the page to go thither without attendance), Roland Graeme, 
amidst a group who seemed to be assembled around a party of 
wandering musicians, distinguished, as he thought, the dress of 
Catherine Seyton. He shook himself clear from his attendant, 
and at one spring was in the midst of the crowd, and at the side 
of the damsel. “ Catherine,” he whispered, “ is it well for you to 
be still here ? Will you not return to the castle ? ” 

“ To the devil with your Catherines and your castles! ” answered 
the maiden snappishly. “ Have you not had time enough already 
to get rid of your follies ? Begone ! I desire not your farther 
company, and there will be danger in thrusting it upon me.” 

“Nay, but if there be danger, fairest Catherine,” replied Ro- 
land, “ why will you not allow me to stay and share it with you ? ” 
1 Water of life; brandy. 2 Signals made by waving. 


THE ABBOT. 


389 

“ Intruding fool,” said the maiden, “ the danger is all on thine 
own side. The risk is, in plain terms, that I strike thee on the 
mouth with the hilt of my dagger.” So saying, she turned 
haughtily from him, and moved through the crowd, who gave 
way in some astonishment at the masculine activity with which 
she forced her way among them. 

As Roland, though much irritated, prepared to follow, he was 
grappled on the other side by Dr. Luke Lundin, who reminded 
him of the loaded boat, of the two wefts, or signals with the flag, 
which had been made from the tower, of the danger of the cold 
breeze to an empty stomach, and of the vanity of spending more 
time upon coy wenches and sour plums. Roland was thus, in a 
manner, dragged back to his boat, and obliged to launch her forth 
upon his return to I.ochleven Castle. 

That little voyage was speedily accomplished, and the page 
was greeted at the landing place by the severe and caustic wel- 
come of old Dryfesdale. “ So, young gallant, you are come at 
last, after a delay of six hours and after two signals from the 
castle ? But, I warrant, some idle junketing had occupied you 
too deeply to think of your service or your duty. Where is the 
note of the plate and household stuff ? Pray Heaven it hath 
not been diminished under the sleeveless 1 care of so young a gad- 
about.” 

“ Diminished under my care, Sir Steward!” retorted the page 
angrily. “ Say so in earnest, and, by Heaven, your gray hair shall 
hardly protect your saucy tongue!” 

“ A truce with your swaggering, young esquire,” returned the 
steward ; “ we have bolts and dungeons for brawlers. Go to my 
lady, and swagger before her, if thou darest. She will give thee 
proper cause of offense, for she has waited for thee long and 
impatiently.” 

“ And where, then, is the Lady of Lochleven ? ” said the page ; 
“ for I conceive it is of her thou speakest.” 

“ Ay, of whom else ? ” replied Dryfesdale ; “ or who besides the 
Lady of Lochleven hath a right to command in this castle ? ” 

1 Useless. 


39 ° 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ The Lady of Lochleven is thy mistress,” said Roland Grceme ; 
“but mine is the Queen of Scotland.” 

The steward looked at him fixedly for a moment, with an air 
in which suspicion and dislike were ill concealed by an affecta- 
tion of contempt. “ The bragging cock-chicken,” he said, “ will 
betray himself by his rash crowing. I have marked thy altered 
manner in the chapel of late, ay, and your changing of glances at 
mealtime with a certain idle damsel, who, like thyself, laughs at 
all gravity and goodness. There is something about you, my 
master, which should be looked to. But, if you would know 
whether the Lady of Lochleven, or that other lady, hath a right 
to command thy service, thou wilt find them together in the Lady 
Mary’s anteroom.” 

Roland hastened thither, not unwilling to escape from the ill- 
natured penetration of the old man, and marveling at the same 
time what peculiarity could have occasioned the Lady of Loch- 
leven’s being in the Queen’s apartment at this time of the after- 
noon, so much contrary to her usual wont. His acuteness in- 
stantly penetrated the meaning. “ She wishes,” he concluded, 
“ to see the meeting betwixt the Queen and me on my return, 
that she may form a guess whether there is any private intelligence 
or understanding betwixt us. I must be guarded.” 

With this resolution he entered the parlor, where the Queen, 
seated in her chair, with the Lady Fleming leaning upon the back 
of it, had already kept the Lady of Lochleven standing in her 
presence for the space of nearly an hour, to the manifest increase 
of her very visible bad humor. Roland Graeme, on entering the 
apartment, made a deep obeisance to the Queen, and another to 
the Lady, and then stood still as if to await their farther question. 
Speaking almost together, the Lady Lochleven said, “ So, young 
man, you are returned at length ? ” 

And then stopped indignantly short, while the Queen went on 
without regarding her, “ Roland, you are welcome home to us ; 
you have proved the true dove and not the raven. Yet I am 
sure I could have forgiven you if, once dismissed from this water- 


THE ABBOT. 


39 1 


circled ark of ours, you had never again returned to us. I trust 
you have brought back an olive branch, for our kind and worthy 
hostess has chafed herself much on account of your long absence, 
and we never needed more some symbol of peace and recon- 
ciliation.” 1 

“ I grieve I should have been detained, madam,” answered 
the page ; “ but from the delay of the person intrusted with the 
matters for which I was sent,' I did not receive them till late in 
the day.” 

“ See you there, now,” said the Queen to the Lady Lochleven ; 
“ we could not persuade you, our dearest hostess, that your house- 
hold goods were in all safe keeping and surety. True it is that 
we can excuse your anxiety, considering that these august apart- 
ments are so scantily furnished that we have not been able to 
offer you even the relief of a stool during the long time you have 
afforded us the pleasure of your society.” 

“ The will, madam,” said the lady, “ the will to offer such ac- 
commodation was more wanting than the means.” 

“ What! ” said the Queen, looking round, and affecting surprise, 
“ there are then stools in this apartment ? one, two — no less than 
four, including the broken one, — a royal garniture ! We observed 
them not. Will it please your ladyship to sit ? ” 

“ No, madam, I will soon relieve you of my presence,” replied 
the Lady Lochleven ; “ and while with you, my aged limbs can 
still better brook fatigue than my mind stoop to accept of con- 
strained courtesy.” 

“ Nay, Lady of Lochleven, if you take it so deeply,” said the 
Queen, rising and motioning to her own vacant chair, “ I would 
rather you assumed my seat. You are not the first of your 
family 2 who has done so.” 

The Lady of Lochleven courtesied a negative, but seemed with 
much difficulty to suppress the angry answer which rose to her lips. 

During this sharp conversation, the page’s attention had been 

1 See Gen. viii. II. 

2 In reference to the assumption of the regency by Murray. 


39 2 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


almost entirely occupied by the entrance of Catherine Seyton, 
who came from the inner apartment, in the usual dress in which 
she attended upon the Queen, and with nothing in her manner 
which marked either the hurry or confusion incident to a hasty 
change of disguise, or the conscious fear of detection in a perilous 
enterprise. Roland Graeme ventured to make her an obeisance 
as she entered, but she returned it with an air of the utmost 
indifference, which, in his opinion, was extremely inconsistent 
with the circumstances in which they stood towards each other. 
“ Surely,” he thought, “ she cannot in reason expect to bully me 
out of the belief due to mine own eyes, as she tried to do con- 
cerning the apparition in the hostelry of St. Michael’s. I will try 
if I cannot make her feel that this will be but a vain task, and 
that confidence in me is the wiser and safer course to pursue.” 

These thoughts had passed rapidly through his mind, when the 
Queen, having finished her altercation with the lady of the castle, 
again addressed him. “ What of the revels at Kinross, Roland 
Graeme? Methought they were gay, if I may judge from some 
faint sounds of mirth and distant music which found their way 
so far as these grated windows, and died when they entered them, 
as all that is mirthful must. But thou lookest as sad as if thou 
hadst come from a conventicle of the Huguenots!” 

“ And so perchance he hath, madam,” replied the Lady of Loch- 
leven, at whom this side shaft was launched. “ I trust, amid yon- 
der idle fooleries, there wanted not some pouring forth of doc- 
trine to a better purpose than that vain mirth which, blazing 
and vanishing like the crackling of dry thorns, leaves to the fools 
who love it nothing but dust and ashes.” 

“ Mary Fleming,” said the Queen, turning round and drawing 
her mantle about her, “ I would that we had the chimney grate 
supplied with a fagot or two of these same thorns which the Lady 
of Lochleven describes so well. Methinks the damp air from the 
lake, which stagnates in these vaulted rooms, renders them deadly 
cold.” 

“Your Grace’s pleasure shall be obeyed,” said the Lady of 


THE ABBOT. 393 

Lochleven ; “ yet may I presume to remind you that we are now 
in summer ? ” 

“ I thank you for the information, my good lady,” said the 
Queen ; “ for prisoners better learn their calendar from the mouth 
of their jailer, than from any change they themselves feel in the 
seasons. — Once more, Roland Graeme, what of the revels? ” 

“ They were gay, madam,” said the page, “ but of the usual sort, 
and little worth your Highness’s ear.” 

“ Oh, you know not,” said the Queen, “ how very indulgent my 
ear has become to all that speaks of freedom and the pleasures 
of the free. Methinks I would rather have seen the gay villagers 
dance their ring round the Maypole than have witnessed the 
most stately masques within the precincts of a palace. The ab- 
sence of stone wall, the sense that the green turf is under the 
foot which may tread it free and unrestrained, is worth all that 
art or splendor can add to more courtly revels.” 

“ I trust,” said the Lady Lochleven, addressing the page in her 
turn, “ there were amongst these follies none of the riots or dis- 
turbances to which they so naturally lead ? ” 

Roland gave a slight glance to Catherine Seyton, as if to 
bespeak her attention, as he replied, “ I witnessed no olfense, 
madam, worthy of marking ; none indeed of any kind, save that 
a bold damsel made her hand somewhat too familiar with the 
cheek of a player man, and ran some hazard of being ducked in 
the lake.” 

As he uttered these words he cast a hasty glance at Catherine ; 
but she sustained, with the utmost serenity of manner and 
countenance, the hint which he had deemed could not have been 
thrown out before her without exciting some fear and confusion. 

“ I will cumber your Grace no longer with my presence,” said 
the Lady Lochleven, “ unless you have aught to command me.” 

“Naught, our good hostess,” answered the Queen, “unless it 
be to pray you that on another occasion you deem it not needful 
to postpone your better employment to wait so long upon us.” 

“ May it please you,” added the Lady Lochleven, “ to com- 


394 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


mand this your gentleman to attend us, that I may receive some 
account of these matters which have been sent hither for your 
Grace’s use ? ” 

“ We may not refuse what you are pleased to require, madam,” 
answered the Queen. — “ Go with the lady, Roland, if our com- 
mands be indeed necessary to thy doing so. We will hear to- 
morrow the history of thy Kinross pleasures. For this night we 
dismiss thy attendance.” 

Roland Graeme went with the Lady of Lochleven, who failed 
not to ask him. many questions concerning what had passed at 
the sports, to which he rendered such answers as were most likely 
to lull asleep any suspicions which she might entertain of his dis- 
position to favor Queen Mary, taking especial care to avoid all 
allusion to the apparition of Magdalen Graeme, and of the Abbot 
Ambrosius. At length, after undergoing a long and somewhat 
close examination, he was dismissed with such expressions, as, 
coming from the reserved and stern Lady of Lochleven, might 
seem to express a degree of favor and countenance. 

His first care was to obtain some refreshment, which was more 
cheerfully afforded him by a good-natured pantler than by Dryfes- 
dale, who was, on this occasion, much disposed to abide by the 
fashion of Pudding-bum House, where 

“ They who came not the first call, 

Gat no more meat till the next meal.” 

When Roland Graeme had finished his repast, having his dis- 
missal from the Queen for the evening, and being little inclined 
for such society as the castle afforded, he stole into the garden, 
in which he had permission to spend his leisure time, when it 
pleased him. In this place the ingenuity of the contriver and 
disposer of the walks had exerted itself to make the most of little 
space, and by screens, both of stone ornamented with rude sculp- 
ture, and hedges of living green, had endeavored to give as much 
intricacy and variety as the confined limits of the garden would 
admit. 


THE ABBOT 


395 

Here the young man walked sadly, considering the events of 
the day, and comparing what had dropped from the Abbot with 
what he had himself noticed of the demeanor of George Douglas. 
“ It must be so,” was the painful but inevitable conclusion at 
which he arrived. " It must be by his aid that she is thus enabled, 
like a phantom, to transport herself from place to place, and to 
appear at pleasure on the mainland or on the islet. It must be 
so,” he repeated once more ; “ with him she holds a close, secret, 
and intimate correspondence, altogether inconsistent with the eye 
of favor which she has sometimes cast upon me, and destructive 
to the hopes which she must have known these glances have 
necessarily inspired.” And yet (for love will hope where reason 
despairs) the thought rushed on his mind that it was possible 
she only encouraged Douglas’s passion so far as might serve her 
mistress’s interest, and that she was of too frank, noble, and candid 
a nature to hold out to himself hopes which she meant not to 
fulfill. Lost in these various conjectures, he seated himself upon 
a bank of turf which commanded a view of the lake on the one 
side, and on the other of that front of the castle along which the 
Queen’s apartments were situated. 

The sun had now for some time set, and the twilight of May was 
rapidly fading into a serene night. On the lake the expanded 
water rose and fell, with the slightest and softest influence of a 
southern breeze, which scarcely dimpled the surface over which 
it passed. In the distance was still seen the dim outline of the 
island of St. Serf, once visited by many a sandaled pilgrim, as the 
blessed spot trodden by a man of God ; now neglected or violated, 
as the refuge of lazy priests, who had with justice been compelled 
to give place to the sheep and the heifers of a Protestant baron. 

As Roland gazed on the dark speck, amid the lighter blue of 
the waters which surrounded it, the mazes of polemical discussion 
again stretched themselves before the eye of his mind. Had these 
men justly suffered their exile as licentious drones, the robbers, at 
once, and disgrace, of the busy hive? or had the hand of avarice 
and rapine expelled from the temple, not the ribalds who polluted, 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


39 6 

but the faithful priests who served, the shrine in honor and fidelity ? 
The arguments of Henderson, in this contemplative hour, rose 
with double force before him, and could scarcely be parried by 
the appeal which the Abbot Ambrosius had made from his un- 
derstanding to his feelings, an appeal which he had felt more 
forcibly amid the bustle of stirring life, than now when his reflec- 
tions were more undisturbed. It required an effort to divert his 
mind from this embarrassing topic ; and he found that he best 
succeeded by turning his eyes to the front of the tower, watching 
where a twinkling light still streamed from the casement of 
Catherine Seyton’s apartment, obscured by times for a moment as 
the shadow of the fair inhabitant passed betwixt the taper and 
the window. At length the light was removed or extinguished, 
and that object of speculation was also withdrawn from the eyes 
of the meditative lover. Dare I confess the fact, without injuring 
his character forever as a hero of romance ? These eyes gradu- 
ally became heavy ; speculative doubts on the subject of religious 
controversy, and anxious conjectures concerning the state of his 
mistress’s affections, became confusedly blended together in his 
musings ; the fatigues of a busy day prevailed over the harassing 
subjects of contemplation which occupied his mind, and he fell 
fast asleep. 

Sound were his slumbers, until they were suddenly dispelled by 
the iron tongue of the castle bell, which sent its deep and sullen 
sounds wide over the bosom of the lake, and awakened the echoes 
of Bennarty, the hill which descends steeply on its southern bank. 
Roland started up, for this bell was always tolled at ten o’clock, 
as the signal for locking the castle gates, and placing the keys 
under the charge of the seneschal. He therefore hastened to the 
wicket by which the garden communicated with the building, and 
had the mortification, just as he reached it, to hear the bolt leave 
its sheath with a discordant crash, and enter the stone groove of 
the door lintel. 

“ Hold, hold,” cried the page, “ and let me in ere you lock the 
wicket.” 


THE ABBOT. 


397 


The voice of Dryfesdale replied from within, in his usual tone 
of imbittered sullenness, “The hour is passed, fair master. You 
like not the inside of these walls ; even make it a complete holi- 
day, and spend the night as well as the day out of bounds.” 

“ Open the door,” exclaimed the indignant page, “ or by St. 
Giles 1 I will make thy gold chain smoke for it !” 2 

“ Make no alarm here,” retorted the impenetrable Dryfesdale, 
“ but keep thy sinful oaths and silly threats for those that regard 
them. I do mine office, and carry the keys to the seneschal. 
Adieu, my young master! the cool night air will advantage your 
hot blood.” 

The steward was right in what he said ; for the cooling breeze 
was very necessary to appease the feverish fit of anger which 
Roland experienced, nor did the remedy succeed for some time. 
At length, after some hasty turns made through the garden, ex- 
hausting his passion in vain vows of vengeance, Roland Graeme 
began to be sensible that his situation ought rather to be held as 
matter of laughter than of serious resentment. To one bred a 
sportsman, a night spent in the open air had in it little of hard- 
ship, and the poor malice of the steward seemed more worthy of 
his contempt than his anger. “ I would to God,” he said, “ that 
the grim old man may always have contented himself with such 
sportive revenge. He often looks as he were capable of doing 
us a darker turn.” Returning, therefore, to the turf seat which 
he had formerly occupied, and which was partially sheltered by 
a trim fence of green holly, he drew his mantle around him, 
stretched himself at length on the verdant settle, and endeavored 
to resume that sleep which the castle bell had interrupted to so 
little purpose. 

Sleep, like other earthly blessings, is niggard of its favors when 
most courted. The more Roland invoked her aid, the farther she 
fled from his eyelids. He had been completely awakened, first, 

1 Patron saint of woods, though his very existence is doubtful. He is 
also the patron saint of Edinburgh, whose chief church is dedicated to him. 

2 “Smoke for it,” i.e., suffer for it. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


39 8 

by the sounds of the bell, and then by his own aroused vivacity 
of temper, and he found it difficult again to compose himself to 
slumber. At length, when his mind was wearied out with a maze 
of unpleasing meditation, he succeeded in ^coaxing himself into a 
broken slumber. This was again dispelled by the voices of two 
persons who were walking in the garden, the sound of whose 
conversation, after mingling for some time in the page’s dreams, 
at length succeeded in awaking him thoroughly. He raised him- 
self from his reclining posture in the utmost astonishment, which 
the circumstance of hearing two persons at that late hour con- 
versing on the outside of the watchfully guarded Castle of Loch- 
leven, was so well calculated to excite. His first thought was of 
supernatural beings ; his next, upon some attempt on the part of 
Queen Mary’s friends and followers ; his last was that George 
of Douglas, possessed of the keys, and having the means of ingress 
and egress at pleasure, was availing himself of his office to hold 
a rendezvous with Catherine Seyton in the castle garden. He 
was confirmed in this opinion by the tone of the voice, which 
asked in a low whisper whether all was ready. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

R OLAND GRAEME, availing himself of a breach in the 
holly screen, and of the assistance of the full moon, which 
was now arisen, had a perfect opportunity, himself unobserved, 
to reconnoiter the persons and the motions of those by whom 
his rest had been thus unexpectedly disturbed ; and his observa- 
tions confirmed his jealous apprehensions. They stood together 
in close and earnest conversation, within four yards of the place 
of his retreat, and he could easily recognize the tall form and 
deep voice of Douglas, and the no less remarkable dress and tone 
of the page at the hostelry of St. Michael’s. 

“ I have been at the door of the page’s apartment,” said 


THE ABBOT 


399 


Douglas, “ but he is not there, or he will not answer. It is fast 
bolted on the inside, as is the custom, and we cannot pass through 
it ; and what his silence may bode I know not.” 

“You have trusted him too far,” said the other; * a feather- 
headed coxcomb, upon whose changeable mind and hot brain 
there is no making an abiding impression.” 

“It was not I who was willing to trust him,” said Douglas, 
“ but I was assured he would prove friendly when called upon ; 
for” — Here he spoke so low that Roland lost the tenor of 
his words, which was the more provoking as he was fully aware 
that he was himself the subject of their conversation. 

“ Nay,” replied the stranger, more aloud, “ I have on my side 
put him off with fair words, which make fools fain ; but now, if 
you distrust him at the push , 1 deal with him with your dagger, and 
so make open passage.” 

“ That were too rash,” said Douglas ; “ and, besides, as I told 
you, the door of his apartment is shut and bolted. I will essay 
again to waken him.” 

Graeme instantly comprehended that the ladies, having been 
somehow made aware of his being in the garden, had secured the 
door of the outer room in which, he usually slept as a sort of 
sentinel upon that only access to the Queen’s apartments. But 
then, how came Catherine Seyton to be abroad, if the Queen and 
the other lady were still within their chambers, and the access to 
them locked and bolted ? “I will be instantly at the bottom of 
these mysteries,” he said, “ and then thank Mistress Catherine, if 
this be really she, for the kind use which she exhorted Douglas 
to make of his dagger. They seek me, as I comprehend, and 
they shall not seek me in vain.” 

Douglas had by this time reentered the castle by the wicket, 
which was now open. The stranger stood alone in the garden 
walk, his arms folded on his breast, and his eyes cast impatient- 
ly up to the moon, as if accusing her of betraying him by the 
magnificence of her luster. In a moment Roland Graeme stood 
1 Extremity; trial. 


400 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


before him. “ A goodly night,” he said, “ Mistress Catherine, 
for a young lady to stray forth in disguise, and to meet with men 
in an orchard ! ” 

“ Hush ! ” said the stranger page, “ hush, thou foolish patch, 
and tell us in a word if thou art friend or foe.” 

“ How should I be friend to one who deceives me by fair words, 
and who would have Douglas deal with me with his poniard ? ” 
replied Roland. 

“ The fiend receive George of Douglas and thee too, thou born 
madcap and sworn marplot ! ” 1 said the other. “ We shall be dis- 
covered, and then death is the word.” 

“ Catherine,” said the page, “ you have dealt falsely and cruelly 
with me, and the moment of explanation is now come. Neither 
it nor you shall escape me.” 

“Madman!” said the stranger, “I am neither Kate nor 
Catherine. The moon shines bright enough, surely, to know the 
hart from the hind.” 2 

“ That shift shall not serve you, fair mistress,” said the page, 
laying hold on the lap of the stranger’s cloak ; “ this time, at least, 
I will know with whom I deal.” 

“ Unhand me,” said she, endeavoring to extricate herself from 
his grasp ; and in a tone where anger seemed to contend with a 
desire to laugh, “ use you so little discretion towards a daughter 
of Seyton ? ” 

But as Roland, encouraged perhaps by her risibility to sup- 
pose his violence was not unpardonably offensive, kept hold on 
her mantle, she said, in a sterner tone of unmixed resentment, 
“ Madman, let me go! There is life and death in this moment. 
I would not willingly hurt thee, and yet beware! ” 

As she spoke she made a sudden effort to escape, and in doing 
so, a pistol, which she carried in her hand or about her person, 
went off. 

This warlike sound instantly awakened the well-warded castle. 

1 One who by meddling or blundering defeats a plot. 

2 “ Hart from the hind,” i.e., a man from a woman. 


THE ABBOT. 


401 


The warder blew his horn, and began to toll the castle bell, 
crying out at the same time, “ Fie, treason ! treason ! cry all ! 
cry all ! ” 

The apparition of Catherine Seyton, which the page had let 
loose in the first moment of astonishment, vanished in darkness, 
but the plash of oars was heard, and in a second or two, five or 
six harquebusses and a falconet were fired from the battlements 
of the castle successively, as if leveled at some object on the 
water. Confounded with these incidents, no way for Catherine’s 
protection (supposing her to be in the boat which he had heard 
put from the shore) occurred to Roland, save to have recourse to 
George of Douglas. He hastened for this purpose towards the 
apartment of the Queen, whence he heard loud voices and much 
trampling of feet. When he entered, he found himself added to 
a confused and astonished group, which, assembled in that apart- 
ment, stood gazing upon each other. At the upper end of the 
room stood the Queen, equipped as for a journey, and attended 
not only by the Lady Fleming, but by the omnipresent Catherine 
Seyton, dressed in the habit of her own sex, and bearing in her 
hand the casket in which Mary kept such jewels as she had been 
permitted to retain. At the other end of the hall was the Lady 
of Lochleven, hastily dressed, as one startled from slumber by 
the sudden alarm, and surrounded by domestics, some bearing 
torches, others holding naked swords, partisans, pistols, or such 
other weapons as they had caught up in the hurry of a night 
alarm. Betwixt these two parties stood George of Douglas, his 
arms folded on his breast, his eyes bent on the ground, like a 
criminal who knows not how to deny, yet continues unwilling to 
avow, the guilt in which he has been detected. 

“ Speak, George of Douglas,” said the Lady of Lochleven ; 
“ speak, and clear the horrid suspicion which rests on thy name. 
Say, f A Douglas was never faithless to his trust, and I am a 
Douglas.’ Say this, my dearest son, and it is all I ask thee to 
say to clear thy name, even under such a foul charge. Say it 
was but the wile of these unhappy women, and this false boy, 
26 


4 02 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


which plotted an escape so fatal to Scotland, so destructive to thy 
father’s house.” 

“ Madam,” said old Dryfesdale the steward, “ this much do I 
say for this silly page, that he could not be accessory to unlock- 
ing the doors, since I myself this night bolted him out of the 
castle. Whoever limned this night-piece , 1 the lad’s share in it 
seems to have been small.” 

“ Thou liest, Dryfesdale,” said the lady, “ and wouldst throw 
the blame on thy master’s house, to save the worthless life of a 
gypsy boy.” 

“ His death were more desirable to me than his life,” answered 
the steward sullenly ; “ but the truth is the truth.” 

At these words Douglas raised his head, drew up his figure to 
its full height, and spoke boldly and sedately, as one whose reso- 
lution was taken. “Let no life be endangered for me. I 
alone ” — 

“ Douglas,” said the Queen, interrupting him, “ art thou mad ? 
Speak not, I charge you.” 

“ Madam,” he replied, bowing with the deepest respect, “ gladly 
would I obey your commands, but they must have a victim, and 
let it be the true one. — Yes, madam,” he continued, addressing 
the Lady of Lochleven, “ I alone am guilty in this matter. If 
the word of a Douglas has yet any weight with you, believe me 
that this boy is innocent ; and on your conscience I charge you, 
do him no wrong ; nor let the Queen suffer hardship for embrac- 
ing the opportunity of freedom which sincere loyalty — which a 
sentiment yet deeper — offered to her acceptance. Yes! I had 
planned the escape of the most beautiful, the most persecuted of 
women ; and far from regretting that I, for a while, deceived the 
malice of her enemies, I glory in it, and am most willing to yield 
up life itself in her cause.” 

“ Now may God have compassion on my age,” said the Lady 
of Lochleven, “ and enable me to bear this load of affliction ! — 
O Princess, bom in a luckless hour, when will you cease to be 

1 “ Limned,” etc., i.e., painted this night-picture; devised this scheme. 


THE ABBOT. 


403 


the instrument of seduction and of ruin to all who approach 
you? — O ancient House of Lochleven, famed so long for birth 
and honor, evil was the hour which brought the deceiver under 
thy roof ! ” 

“ Say not so, madam,” replied her grandson ; “ the old honors 
of the Douglas line will be outshone when one of its descendants 
dies for the most injured of queens, for the most lovely of women.” 

“ Douglas,” said the Queen, “must I at this moment, ay, even 
at this moment, when I may lose a faithful subject forever, chide 
thee for forgetting what is due to me as thy Queen ? ” 

“Wretched boy,” said the distracted Lady of Lochleven, 
“hast thou fallen even thus far into the snare of this Moabitish 
woman ? Hast thou bartered thy name, thy allegiance, thy 
knightly oath, thy duty to thy parents, thy country, and thy God, 
for a feigned tear, or a sickly smile from lips which flattered the 
infirm Francis, lured to death the idiot Darnley, read luscious 
poetry with the minion Chastelar , 1 mingled in the lays of love 
which were sung by the beggar Rizzio, and which were joined in 
rapture to those of the foul and licentious Bothwell ? ” 

“Blaspheme not, madam!” said Douglas; “nor you, fair 
Queen, and virtuous as fair, chide at this moment the presumption 
of thy vassal ! Think not that the mere devotion of a subject 
could have moved me to the part I have been performing. Well 
you deserve that each of your lieges should die for you ; but I 
have done more, — have done that to which love alone could com- 
pel a Douglas, — I have dissembled. Farewell, then, Queen of 
all hearts, and Empress of that of Douglas ! When you are freed 
from this vile bondage, as freed you shall be, if justice remains 
in heaven, and when you load with honors and titles the happy 
man who shall deliver you, cast one thought on him whose heart 
would have despised every reward for a kiss of your hand ; cast 

1 Pierre de Boscosel Chastelard, a French poet and soldier, fell madly in 
love with Mary, and followed her to Scotland. She accepted his love poems, 
and treated him affectionately; but when, in 1564, she had twice found him, 
armed, in her chamber, he was condemned to death, and hanged. 


404 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


one thought on his fidelity, and drop one tear on his grave.” And 
throwing himself at her feet, he seized her hand, and pressed it 
to his lips. 

“ This before my face ! ” exclaimed the Lady of Lochleven. 
“ Tear them asunder, and put him under strict ward ! Seize him, 
upon your lives ! ” she added, seeing that her attendants looked 
on each other with hesitation. 

“ They are doubtful,” said Mary. “ Save thyself, Douglas, I 
command thee ! ” 

He started up from the floor, and only exclaiming, “ My life 
or death are yours, and at your disposal ! ” drew his sword, and 
broke through those who stood betwixt him and the door. The 
enthusiasm of his onset was too sudden and too lively to have 
been opposed by anything short of the most decided opposition ; 
and as he was both loved and feared by his father’s vassals, none 
of them would offer him actual injury. 

The Lady of Lochleven stood astonished at his sudden escape. 
“ Am I surrounded,” she said, “ by traitors ? Upon him, villains ! 
pursue, stab, cut him down ! ” 

“ He cannot leave the island, madam,” said Dryfesdale, inter- 
fering ; “ I have the key of the boat chain.” 

But two or three voices of those who pursued from curiosity, 
or command of their mistress, exclaimed from below that he had 
cast himself into the lake. 

“ Brave Douglas, still! ” exclaimed the Queen. “ Oh, true and 
noble heart, that prefers death to imprisonment!” 

“ Fire upon him ! ” said the Lady of Lochleven. “ If there 
be here a true servant of his father, let him shoot the runagate 1 
dead, and let the lake cover our shame!” 

The report of a gun or two was heard, but they were probably 
shot rather to obey the lady, than with any purpose of hitting 
the mark, and Randal immediately entering, said that Master 
George had been taken up by a boat from the castle, which lay 
at a little distance. 

1 A form of renegade ; one false to his faith. 


THE ABBOT. 


405 


“ Man a barge, and pursue them! ” said the lady. * 

“ It were quite vain,” said Randal ; “ by this time they are 
half way to shore, and a cloud has come over the moon.” 

“ And has the traitor then escaped ? ” said the lady, pressing 
her hands against her forehead with a gesture of despair. “ The 
honor of our house is forever gone, and all will be deemed ac- 
complices in this base treachery.” 

“ Lady of Lochlevcn,” said Mary, advancing towards her, “ you 
have this night cut off my fairest hopes. You have turned my 
expected freedom into bondage, and dashed away the cup of 
joy in the very instant I was advancing it to my lips; and yet I 
feel for your sorrow the pity that you deny to mine. Gladly 
would I comfort you if I might ; but as I may not, I would at 
least part from you in charity.” 

“Away, proud woman!” said the lady. “Who ever knew so 
well as thou to deal the deepest wounds under the pretense of 
kindness and courtesy? Who, since the great traitor , 1 could ever 
so betray with a kiss ? ” 

“ Lady Douglas of Lochleven,” said the Queen, “ in this mo- 
ment thou canst not offend me, no, not even by thy coarse and 
unwomanly language, held to me in the presence of menials 
and armed retainers. I have this night owed so much to one 
member of the House of Lochleven, as to cancel whatever its 
mistress can do or say in the wildness of her passion.” 

“ We are bounden 2 to you, Princess,” said Lady Lochleven, 
putting a strong constraint on herself, and passing from her tone 
of violence to that of bitter irony ; “ our poor house hath been 
but seldom graced with royal smiles, and will hardly, with my 
choice, exchange their rough honesty for such court honor as 
Mary of Scotland has now to bestow.” 

“ They,” replied Mary, “ who knew so well how to take, may 
think themselves excused from the obligation implied in receiving. 
And that I have now little to offer is the fault of the Douglases 
and their allies.” 

1 Judas Iscariot. 


2 Under obligation. 


406 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Fear nothing, madam,” replied the Lady of Lochleven in the 
same bitter tone ; “ you retain an exchequer which neither your 
own prodigality can drain, nor your offended country deprive you 
of. While you have fair words and delusive smiles at command, 
you need no other bribes to lure youth to folly.” 

The Queen cast not an ungratified glance on a large mirror, 
which, hanging on one side of the apartment, and illuminated 
by the torchlight, reflected her beautiful face and person. “ Our 
hostess grows complaisant,” she said, “ my Fleming ; we had not 
thought that grief and captivity had left us so well stored with 
that sort of wealth which ladies prize most dearly.” 

“ Your Grace will drive this severe woman frantic,” said Flem- 
ing in a low tone. “ On my knees I implore you to remember 
she is already dreadfully offended, and that we are in her power.” 

“ I will not spare her, Fleming,” answered the Queen ; “it is 
against my nature. She returned my honest sympathy with insult 
and abuse, and I will gall her in return. If her words are too 
blunt for answer, let her use her poniard if she dare! ” 

“ The Lady Lochleven,” said the Lady Fleming aloud, “ would 
surely do well now to withdraw, and to leave her Grace to repose.” 

“Ay,” replied the lady, “or to leave her Grace, and her 
Grace’s minions, to think what silly fly they may next wrap their 
meshes about. My eldest son is a widower ; were he not more 
worthy the flattering hopes with which you have seduced his 
brother? True, the yoke of marriage has been already thrice 
fitted on ; but the Church of Rome calls it a sacrament , 1 and its 
votaries may deem it one in which they cannot too often par- 
ticipate.” 

“ And the votaries of the Church of Geneva,” replied Mary, 
coloring with indignation, “ as they deem marriage no sacrament, 
are said at times to dispense with the holy ceremony.” Then, as 
if afraid of the consequences of this home allusion to the errors 

1 A religious ceremony enjoined for the benefit of the individual or the 
church. The Roman Catholic Church acknowledges seven ; Protestants 
only two, — baptism and the Lord’s Supper. 


THE ABBOT. 407 

of Lady Lochleven’s early life, the Queen added, “ Come, my 
Fleming, we grace her too much by this altercation ; we will to 
our sleeping apartment. If she would disturb us again to-night, 
she must cause the door to be forced.” So saying, she retired to 
her bedroom, followed by her two women. 

Lady Lochleven, stunned as it were by this last sarcasm, and 
not the less deeply incensed that she had drawn it upon herself, 
remained like a statue on the spot which she had occupied when 
she received an affront so flagrant. Dryfesdale and Randal en- 
deavored to rouse her to recollection by questions. 

“ What is your honorable ladyship’s pleasure in the premises ? ” 

“ Shall we not double the sentinels, and place one upon the 
boats and another in the garden ? ” said Randal. 

“ Would you that dispatches were sent to Sir William at Edin- 
burgh, to acquaint him with what has happened ? ” demanded 
Dryfesdale ; “ and ought not the place of Kinross to be alarmed, 
lest there be force upon the shores of the lake ? ” . 

“ Do all as thou wilt,” said the lady, collecting herself, and 
about to depart. “ Thou hast the name of a good soldier, Dryfes- 
dale ; take all precautions. Sacred Heaven! that I should be 
thus openly insulted ! ” 

“ Would it be your pleasure,” said Dryfesdale, hesitating, “ that 
this person — this lady — be more severely restrained ? ” 

“No, vassal!” answered the lady indignantly; “my revenge 
stoops not to so low a gratification. But I will have more worthy 
vengeance, or the tomb of my ancestors shall cover my shame!” 

“ And you shall have it, madam,” replied Dryfesdale. “ Ere 
two suns go down, you shall term yourself amply revenged.” 

The lady made no answer, perhaps did not hear his words, as 
she presently left the apartment. By the command of Dryfes- 
dale, the rest of the attendants were dismissed, some to do the 
duty of guard, others to their repose. The steward himself re- 
mained after they had all departed ; and Roland Graeme, who 
was alone in the apartment, was surprised to see the old soldier 
advance. towards him with an air of greater cordiality than he had 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


408 

ever before assumed to him, but which sat ill on his scowling 
features. 

“ Youth,” he said, “ I have done thee some wrong. It is thine 
own fault, for thy behavior hath seemed as light to me as the 
feather thou wearest in thy hat ; and surely thy fantastic apparel, 
and idle humor of mirth and folly, have made me construe thee 
something harshly. But I saw this night from my casement (as I 
looked out to see how thou hadst disposed of thyself in the garden), 
I saw, I say, the true efforts which thou didst make to detain the 
companion of the perfidy of him who is no longer worthy to be 
called by his father’s name, but must be cut off from his house 
like a rotten branch. I was just about to come to thy assistance 
when the pistol went off ; and the warder (a false knave, whom 
I suspect to be bribed for the nonce ) 1 saw himself forced to give 
the alarm, which, perchance, till then he had willfully withheld. 
To atone, therefore, for my injustice towards you, I would will- 
ingly render you a courtesy, if you would accept of it from my 
hands.” 

“ May I first crave to know what it is ? ” replied the page. 

“ Simply to carry the news of this discovery to Holyrood, where 
thou mayest do thyself much grace, as well with the Earl of 
Morton and the Regent himself, as with Sir William Douglas, 
seeing thou hast seen the matter from end to end, and borne 
faithful part therein. The making thine own fortune will be thus 
lodged in thine own hand, when I trust thou wilt estrange thyself 
from foolish vanities, and learn to walk in this world as one who 
thinks upon the next.” 

“ Sir Steward,” said Roland Graeme, “ I thank you for your 
courtesy, but I may not do your errand. I pass 2 that I am the 
Queen’s sworn servant, and may not be of counsel against her. 
But, setting this apart, methinks it were a bad road to Sir William 
of Lochleven’s favor, to be the first to tell him of his son’s de- 
fection ; neither would the Regent be over well pleased to hear 


1 “For the nonce,” i.e., for that time only. 


2 Am of opinion. 


THE ABBOT. 409 

the infidelity of his vassal, nor Morton to learn the falsehood of 
his kinsman.” 

“Um!” said the steward, making that inarticulate sound which 
expresses surprise mingled with displeasure. “Nay, then, even 
fly where ye list ; for, giddy-pated as ye may be, you know how 
to bear you in the world.” 

“ I will show you my esteem is less selfish than ye think for,” 
said the page; “for I hold truth and mirth to be better than 
gravity and cunning ; ay, and in the end to be a match for them. 
You never loved me less, Sir Steward, than you do at this 
moment. I know you will give me no real confidence, and I 
am resolved to accept no false protestations as current 1 coin. 
Resume your old course, suspect me as much, and watch me as 
closely, as you will, I bid you defiance ; you have met with your 
match.” 

“ By Heaven, young man,” said the steward with a look of 
bitter malignity, “if thou darest to attempt any treachery to- 
wards the House of Lochleven, thy head shall blacken in the sun 
from the warder’s turret ! ” 

“ He cannot commit treachery who refuses trust,” said the page ; 
“ and for my head, it stands as securely on my shoulders as on 
any turret that ever mason built.” 

“ Farewell, thou prating and speckled pie,” 2 said Dryfesdale, 
“ that art so vain of thine idle tongue and variegated coat! Be- 
ware trap and lime twig.” 3 

“ And fare thee well, thou hoarse old raven,” answered the 
page ; “ thy solemn flight, sable hue, and deep croak are no 
charms against birdbolt or hailshot, and that thou mayest find. 
It is open war betwixt us, each for the cause of our mistress, and 
God show the right!” 

“ Amen, and defend his own people! ” said the steward. “ I 


1 Genuine. 2 Magpie. 

3 A twig smeared with birdlime, a sticky substance by which birds are 

caught. 


4io 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


will let my mistress know what addition thou hast made to this 
mess of traitors. Good night, Monsieur Featherpate.” 

“ Good night, Seignior Sowersby ,” 1 replied the page ; and, 
when the old man departed, he betook himself to rest. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

H OWEVER* weary Roland Graeme might be of the Castle of 
Lochleven, however much he might wish that the plan for 
Mary’s escape had been perfected, I question if he ever awoke 
with more pleasing feelings than on the morning after George 
Douglas’s plan for accomplishing her deliverance had been 
frustrated. In the first place, he had the clearest conviction that 
he had misunderstood the innuendo of the Abbot, and that the 
affections of Douglas were fixed, not on Catherine Seyton, but 
on the Queen ; and, in the second place, from the sort of ex- 
planation which had taken place betwixt the steward and him, 
he felt himself at liberty, without any breach of honor towards the 
family of Lochleven, to contribute his best aid to any scheme 
which should in future be formed for the Queen’s escape ; and, 
independently of the good will which he himself had to the en- 
terprise, he knew he could find no surer road to the favor of 
Catherine Seyton. He now sought but an opportunity to inform 
her that he had dedicated himself to this task, and fortune was 
propitious in affording him one which was unusually favorable. 

At the ordinary hour of breakfast, it was introduced by the 
steward with his usual forms, who, as soon as it was placed on 
the board in the inner apartment, said to Roland Graeme, with a 
glance of sarcastic import, “ I leave you, my young sir, to do the 
office of sewer ; it has been too long rendered to the Lady Mary 
by one belonging to the House of Douglas.” 

1 A term of contempt, made from “ sower,” an obsolete form of “ sewer ” 
or “ steward.” 


THE ABBOT. 


411 

“Were it the prime and principal 1 who ever bore the name,” 
said Roland, “ the office were an honor to him.” 

The steward departed without replying to this bravade 2 other- 
wise than by a dark look of scorn. Graeme, thus left alone, busied 
himself as one engaged in a labor of love, to imitate, as well as 
he could, the grace and courtesy with which George of Douglas 
was wont to render his ceremonial service at meals to the Queen 
of Scotland. There was more than youthful vanity, there was a 
generous devotion in the feeling with which he took up the task, 
as a brave soldier assumes the place of a comrade who has fallen 
in the front of battle. “ I am now,” he said, “ their only cham- 
pion ; and, come weal, come woe, I will be, to the best of my skill 
and power, as faithful, as trustworthy, as brave, as any Douglas 
of them all could have been.” 

At this moment Catherine Seyton entered alone, contrary to 
her custom ; and, not less contrary to her custom, she entered 
with her kerchief at her eyes. Roland Graeme approached her 
with beating heart and with downcast eyes, and asked her, in a 
low and hesitating voice, whether the Queen w r ere well. 

“ Can you suppose it ? ” said Catherine. “ Think you her heart 
and body are framed of steel and iron, to endure the cruel dis- 
appointment of yester even, and the infamous taunts of yonder 
puritanic hag ? Would to God that I were a man, to aid her 
more effectually ! ” 

“ If those who carry pistols, and batons, and poniards,” said 
the page, “ are not men, they are at least Amazons ; and that is 
as formidable.” 

“ You are welcome to the flash of your wit, sir,” replied the 
damsel ; "lam neither in spirits to enjoy, nor to reply to it.” 

“ Well, then,” said the page, “ list to me in all serious truth. 
And first, let me say that the gear last night had been smoother 
had you taken me into your counsels.” 

“ And so we meant ; but who could have guessed that Master 
Page should choose to pass all night in the garden, like some 

1 “Prime,” etc., i.e., first and greatest. 2 Boastful defiance. 


412 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


moon-stricken knight in a Spanish romance, instead of being in 
his bedroom, when Douglas came to hold communication with 
him on our project ? ” 

“ And why,” said the page, “ defer to so late a moment so im- 
portant a confidence ? ” 

“ Because your communications with Henderson, and — with 
pardon — the natural impetuosity and fickleness of your disposi- 
tion, made us dread to intrust you with a secret of such con- 
sequence, till the last moment.” 

“ And why at the last moment ? ” said the page, offended at 
this frank avowal. “ Why at that, or any other moment, since I 
had the misfortune to incur so much suspicion ? ” 

“Nay, now you are angry again,” said Catherine; “and to 
serve you aright I should break off this talk ; but I will be 
magnanimous, and answer your question. Know, then, our 
reason for trusting you was twofold. In the first place, we could 
scarce avoid it, since you slept in the room through which we 
had to pass. In the second place ” — 

“ Nay,” said the page, “ you may dispense with a second reason, 
when the first makes your confidence in me a case of necessity.” 

“ Good now, hold thy peace,” said Catherine. “ In the second 
place, as I said before, there is one foolish person among us, who 
believes that Roland Graeme’s heart is warm though his head is 
giddy; that his blood is pure, though it boils too hastily; and 
that his faith and honor are true as. the loadstar , 1 though his 
tongue sometimes is far less than discreet.” 

This avowal Catherine repeated in a low tone, with her eye 
fixed on the floor, as if she shunned the glance of Roland while 
she suffered it to escape her lips. “ And this single friend,” ex- 
claimed the youth in rapture; “this only one who would do 
justice to the poor Roland Graeme, and whose own generous 
heart taught her to distinguish between follies of the brain and 
faults of the heart — will you not tell me, dearest Catherine, to 
whom I owe my most grateful, my most heartfelt, thanks ? ” 

1 The fixed north star. 


THE ABBOT. 


413 


“ Nay,” said Catherine, with her eyes still fixed on the ground, 
“ if your own heart tell you not ” — 

“Dearest Catherine!” said the page, seizing upon her hand, 
and kneeling on one knee. 

“ If your own heart, I say, tell you not,” said Catherine, gently 
disengaging her hand, “ it is very ungrateful ; for since the mater- 
nal kindness of the Lady Fleming ” — 

The page started on his feet. “ By Heaven, Catherine, your 
tongue wears as many disguises as your person! But you only 
mock me, cruel girl. You know the Lady Fleming has no more 
regard for any one than hath the forlorn princess who is wrought 
into yonder piece of old figured court tapestry.” 

“ It may be so,” said Catherine Seyton, “ but you should not 
speak so loud.” 

“Pshaw!” answered the page, but at the same time lowering 
his voice, “ she cares for no one but herself and the Queen. And 
you know, besides, there is no one of you whose opinion I value 
if I have not your own, — no, not that of Queen Mary herself.” 

“ The more shame for you if it be so,” said Catherine, with 
great composure. 

“ Nay, but, fair Catherine,” said the page, “why will you thus 
damp my ardor, when I am devoting myself, body and soul, to 
the cause of your mistress ? ” 

“It is because in doing so,” said Catherine, “you debase a 
cause so noble by naming along with it any lower or more selfish 
motive. Believe me,” she said, with kindling eyes, and while the 
blood mantled on her cheek , 1 “ they think vilely and falsely of 
women — I mean of those who deserve the name — who deem 
that they love the gratification of their vanity, or the mean pur- 
pose of engrossing a lover’s admiration and affection, better than 
they love the virtue and honor of the man they may be brought 
to prefer. He that serves his religion, his prince, and his country 
with ardor and devotion, need not plead his cause with the com- 
monplace rant of romantic passion. The woman whom he honors 
1 “ Mantled,” etc., i.e., suffused her cheek with color. 


414 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


with his love becomes his debtor, and her corresponding affection 
is engaged to repay his glorious toil.” i ri r 

“You hold a glorious prize for such toil,” said the youth, bend- 
ing his eyes on her with enthusiasm. 

“ Only a heart which knows how to value it,” said Catherine. 
“ He that should free this injured Princess from these dungeons, 
and set her at liberty among her loyal and warlike nobles whose 
hearts are burning to welcome her — where is the maiden in 
Scotland whom the love of such a hero would not honor, were 
she sprung from the blood royal of the land, and he the offspring 
of the poorest cottager that ever held a plow ? ” 

“ I am determined,” said Roland, “ to take the adventure. Tell 
me first, however, fair Catherine, and speak it as if you were 
confessing to the priest ; this poor Queen, I know she is unhappy, 
but, Catherine, do you hold her innocent ? She is accused of 
murder.” 

“Do I hold the lamb guilty because it is assailed by the wolf ? ” 
answered Catherine ; “ do I hold yonder sun polluted because an 
earth damp sullies his beams ? ” 

The page sighed and looked down. “ Would my conviction 
were as 'deep as thine! But one thing is clear, that in this cap- 
tivity she hath wrong. She rendered herself up on a capitula- 
tion, and the terms have been refused her. I will embrace her 
quarrel to the death ! ” 

“ Will you, will you, indeed ? ” said Catherine, taking his hand 
in her turn. “ Oh, be but firm in mind, as thou art bold in deed 
and quick in resolution ; keep but thy plighted faith, and after 
ages shall honor thee as the savior of Scotland ! ” 

“ But when I have toiled successfully to win that Leah , 1 Honor, 
thou wilt not, my Catherine,” said the page, “ condemn me to a 
new term of service for that Rachel, Love ? ” 

“ Of that,” said Catherine, again extricating her hand from his 

1 The older daughter of Laban, for whom Jacob had to serve seven years 
before he could begin a similar term of service for her younger sister, Rachel 
(see Gen. xxix.). 


THE ABBOT. 415 

grasp, “ we shall have full time to speak ; but Honor is the elder 
sister, and must be won the first.” 

“ I may not win her,” answered the page ; “ but I will venture 
fairly for her, and man can do no more. And know, fair Cather- 
ine — for you shall see the very secret thought of my heart — that 
not Honor only, not only that other and fairer sister, whom you 
frown on me for so much as mentioning, but the stern commands 
of duty, also, compel me to aid the Queen’s deliverance.” 

“Indeed!” said Catherine; “you were wont to have doubts 
on that matter.” 

“ Ay, but her life was not then threatened,” replied Roland. 

“And is it now more endangered than heretofore?” asked 
Catherine Seyton in anxious terror. 

“Be not alarmed,” said the page; “but you heard the terms 
on which your royal mistress parted with the Lady of Lochleven ? ” 

“Too well, but too well,” said Catherine. “Alas! that she 
cannot rule her princely resentment, and refrain from encounters 
like these!” 

“That hath passed betwixt them,” said Roland, “for which 
woman never forgives woman. I saw the lady’s brow turn pale, 
and then black, when, before all the menzie , 1 and in her moment 
of power, the Queen humbled her to the dust by taxing her with 
her shame. And I heard the oath of deadly resentment and re- 
venge which she muttered in the ear of one who, by his answer, 
will, I judge, be but too ready an executioner of her will.” 

“You terrify me,” said Catherine. 

“ Do not so take it ; call up the masculine part of your spirit. 
We will counteract and defeat her plans, be they dangerous as 
they may. Why do you look upon me thus, and weep ? ” 

“Alas!” said Catherine, “because you stand there before me 
a living and breathing man, in all the adventurous glow and 
enterprise of youth, yet still possessing the frolic spirits of child- 
hood. There you stand, full alike of generous enterprise and 
childish recklessness ; and if to-day, or to-morrow, or some such 


1 Attendants. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


416 

brief space, you lie a mangled and lifeless corpse upon the floor 
of these hateful dungeons, who but Catherine Seyton will be the 
cause of your brave and gay career being broken short as you 
start from the goal ? Alas ! she whom you have chosen to twine 
your wreath may too probably have to work your shroud ! ” 

“ And be it so, Catherine,” said the page, in the full glow of 
youthful enthusiasm; “and do thou work my shroud! And if 
thou grace it with such tears as fall now at the thought, it will 
honor my remains more than an earl’s mantle would my living 
body. But shame on this faintness of heart! the time craves 
a firmer mood. Be a woman, Catherine, or rather be a man. 
Thou canst be a man if thou wilt.” 

Catherine dried her tears, and endeavored to smile. 

“You must not ask me,” she said, “about that which so 
much disturbs your mind ; you shall know all in time, — nay, 
you should know all now, but that — hush, here comes the 
Queen.” 

Mary entered from her apartment, paler than usual, and appar- 
ently exhausted by a sleepless night, and by the painful thoughts 
which had ill supplied the place of repose ; yet the languor of her 
looks was so far from impairing her beauty that it only substi- 
tuted the frail delicacy of the lovely woman for the majestic 
grace of the queen. Contrary to her wont, her toilet had been 
very hastily dispatched, and her hair, which was usually dressed 
by Lady Fleming with great care, escaping from beneath the 
headtire , 1 which had been hastily adjusted, fell in long and lux- 
uriant tresses of nature’s own curling, over a neck and bosom 
which were somewhat less carefully veiled than usual. 

As she stepped over the threshold of her apartment, Catherine, 
hastily drying her tears, ran to meet her royal mistress, and hav- 
ing first kneeled at her feet and kissed her hand, instantly rose, 
and placing herself on the other side of the Queen, seemed anxious 
to divide with the Lady Fleming the honor of supporting and 
assisting her. The page, on his part, advanced and put in order 
1 Headdress. Probably a corruption of “ tiara.” 


THE ABBOT. 


4i7 


the chair of state, which she usually occupied, and, having placed 
the cushion and footstool for her accommodation, stepped back, 
and stood ready for service in the place usually occupied by his 
predecessor, the young seneschal. Mary’s eye rested an instant 
on him, and could not but remark the change of persons. Hers 
was not the female heart which could refuse compassion, at least, 
to a gallant youth who had suffered in her cause, although he had 
been guided in his enterprise by a too presumptuous passion ; and 
the words “Poor Douglas!” escaped from her lips, perhaps un- 
consciously, as she leant herself back in her chair, and put the 
kerchief to her eyes. 

“Yes, gracious madam,” said Catherine, assuming a cheerful 
manner, in order to cheer her Sovereign, “ our gallant knight is 
indeed banished; the adventure was not reserved for him ; 1 but 
he has left behind him a youthful esquire as much devoted to 
your Grace’s service, and who, by me, makes you tender of his 
hand and sword.” 

“ If they may in aught avail your Grace,” said Roland Graeme, 
bowing profoundly. 

“Alas!” said the Queen, “what needs this, Catherine? Why 
prepare new victims to be involved in, and overwhelmed by, my 
cruel fortune ? Were we not better cease to struggle, and our- 
selves sink in the tide without farther resistance, than thus drag* 
into destruction with us every generous heart which makes an 
effort in our favor ? I have had but too much of plot and in- 
trigue around me, since I was stretched an orphan child in my 
very cradle, while contending nobles strove which should rule in 
the name of the unconscious innocent. Surely time it were that 
all this busy and most dangerous coil 2 should end. Let me call 
my prison a convent, and my seclusion a voluntary sequestration 
of myself from the world and its ways.” 

1 In chivalric romances, an adventure was often impossible for all who 
undertook it, until the knight appeared for whom it had been appointed 
beforehand. 

2 Disturbance; trouble. 

27 


418 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Speak not thus, madam, before your faithful servants,” said 
Catherine, “ to discourage their zeal at once and to break their 
hearts. Daughter of kings, be not in this hour so unkingly. — 
Come, Roland, and let us, the youngest of her followers, show 
ourselves worthy of her cause ; let us kneel before her footstool, 
and implore her to be her own magnanimous self.” And leading 
Roland Graeme to the Queen’s seat, they both kneeled down be- 
fore her. Mary raised herself in her chair, and sat erect while, 
extending one hand to be kissed by the page, she arranged with 
the other the clustering locks which shaded the bold yet lovely 
brow of the high-spirited Catherine. 

“Alas! ma mignonne” 1 she said, for so in fondness she often 
called her young attendant, “ that you should thus desperately 
mix with my unhappy fate the fortune of your young lives ! Are 
they not a lovely couple, my Fleming ? and is it not heartrending 
to think that I must be their ruin ? ” 

“ Not so,” said Roland Graeme, “it is we, gracious Sovereign, 
who will be your deliverers.” 

“ Ex oribus parvulorum! ” 2 said the Queen, looking upward ; 
“if it is by the mouth of these children that Heaven calls me to 
resume the stately thoughts which become my birth and my rights, 
Thou wilt grant them Thy protection, and to me the power of 
Rewarding their zeal!” Then, turning to Fleming, she instantly 
added, “ Thou knowest, my friend, whether to make those who 
have served me happy was not ever Mary’s favorite pastime. 
When I have been rebuked by the stern preachers of the Cal- 
vinistic heresy, when I have seen the fierce countenances of my 
nobles averted from me, has it not been because I mixed in the 
harmless pleasures of the young and gay, and, rather for the sake 
of their happiness than my own, have mingled in the masque, the 
song, or the dance, with the youth of my household ? Well, I 
repent not of it, though Knox termed it sin, and Morton, degrada- 
tion. I was happy, because I saw happiness around me ; and 
woe betide the wretched jealousy that can extract guilt out of the 

1 My darling. 2 Out of the mouths of babes (see Matt. xxi. 16). 


THE ABBOT 


419 


overflowings of an unguarded gayety ! Fleming, if we are restored 
to our throne, shall we not have one blithesome day at a blithe- 
some bridal, of which we must now name neither the bride nor 
the bridegroom ? But that bridegroom shall have the Barony of 
Blairgowrie , 1 a fair gift even for a Queen to give, and that bride’s 
chaplet shall be twined with the fairest pearls that ever were found 
in the depths of Loch Lomond ; 2 and thou thyself, Mary Fleming, 
the best dresser of tires that ever busked 3 the tresses of a Queen, 
and who would scorn to touch those of any woman of lower rank, 
— thou thyself shalt, for my love, twine them into the bride’s 
tresses. Look, my Fleming, suppose them such clustered locks as 
those of our Catherine, they would not put shame upon thy skill.” 

So saying, she passed her hand fondly over the head of her 
youthful favorite, while her more aged attendant replied despond- 
ently, “Alas! madam, your thoughts stray far from home.” 

“They do, my Fleming,” said the Queen; “but is it well or 
kind in you to call them back ? God knows, they have kept the 
perch this night but too closely. Come, I will recall the gay 
vision, were it but to punish them. Yes, at that blithesome bridal, 
Mary herself shall forget the weight of sorrows, and the toil of 
state, and herself once more lead a measure. At whose wed- 
ding was it that we last danced, my Fleming ? I think care has 
troubled my memory — yet something of it I should remember; 
canst thou not aid me ? I know thou canst.” 

“Alas! madam,” replied the lady — 

“ What! ” said Mary, “ wilt thou not help us so far ? This is 
a peevish adherence to thine own graver opinion, which holds our 
talk as folly. But thou art courtbred, and wilt well understand 
me when I say the Queen commands Lady Fleming to tell her 
where she led the last branle .” 4 

1 A large estate in Perthshire. 

2 The largest of the Scottish lakes, imbedded among the southern High- 

lands, about twenty miles from Glasgow. 3 Decked. 

4 Generic name of all dances in which, as in the cotillion, two dancers set 
the example to the rest. 


420 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


With a face deadly pale, and a mien as if she were about to 
sink into the earth, the courtbred dame, no longer daring to re- 
fuse obedience, faltered out, “Gracious Lady, — if my memory 
err not, — it was at a masque in Holyrood — at the marriage of 
Sebastian.” 1 

The unhappy Queen, who had hitherto listened with a melan- 
choly smile, provoked by the reluctance with which the Lady 
Fleming brought out her story, at this ill-fated word interrupted 
her with a shriek so wild and loud that the vaulted apartment 
rang, and both Roland and Catherine sprung to their feet in the 
utmost terror and alarm. Meantime, Mary seemed, by the train 
of horrible ideas thus suddenly excited, surprised not only beyond 
self-command, but for the moment beyond the verge of reason. 

“ Traitress! ” she said to the Lady Fleming, “ thou wouldst slay 
thy Sovereign. Call my French guards — a moi! a moi! mes 
Franfais! 2 — I am beset with traitors in mine own palace — they 
have murdered my husband — Rescue ! — rescue for the Queen 
of Scotland ! ” She started up from her chair, her features, late 
so exquisitely lovely in their paleness, now inflamed with the fury 
of frenzy, and resembling those of a Bellona . 3 “ We will take 
the field ourself,” she said; “warn the city — warn Lothian and 
Fife — saddle our Spanish barb, and bid French Paris 4 see our 
petronel be charged ! — Better to die at the head of our brave 
Scotsmen, like our grandfather at Flodden , 5 than of a broken 
heart, like our ill-starred father!” 

“ Be patient, be composed, dearest Sovereign,” said Catherine ; 
and then, addressing Lady Fleming angrily, she added, “ How 
could you say aught that reminded her of her husband ? ” 

1 A favorite servant of Mary’s, married on the night of Darnley’s murder. 

2 Tome! tome! my Frenchmen! 

3 The Roman goddess of war, sister of Mars. She appeared in battle 
armed with a whip, and with disheveled hair. 

4 Bothwell’s servant; his real name was Nicholas Hubert. 

5 A great defeat of the Scots by the English, in 1513, in which King 
James IV. was killed (see Scott’s Marmion). 


THE ABBOT. 


421 


The word reached the ear of the unhappy Princess, who caught 
it up, speaking with great rapidity. “ Husband ! — what husband? 
Not his most Christian Majesty ! 1 He is ill at ease — he cannot 
mount on horseback. Not him of the Lennox 2 — but it was the 
Duke of Orkney thou wouldst say.” 

“ For God’s love, madam, be patient! ” said the Lady Fleming. 

But the Queen’s excited imagination could by no entreaty be 
diverted from its course. “ Bid him come hither to our aid,” she 
said, “ and bring with him his lambs, as he calls them, — Bowton, 
Hay of Talla, Black Ormiston, and his kinsman Hob . 3 Fie! how 
swart 4 they are, and how they smell of sulphur! What! closeted 
with Morton? Nay, if the Douglas and the Hepburn hatch the 
complot together, the bird, when it breaks the shell, will scare 
Scotland. Will it not, my Fleming? ” 

“ She grows wilder and wilder,” said Fleming ; “ we have too 
many hearers for these strange words.” 

“Roland,” said Catherine, “in the name of God, begone! 
You cannot aid us here. Leave us to deal with her alone. Away 
— away ! ” 

She thrust him to the door of the anteroom; yet even when 
he had entered that apartment, and shut the door, he could still 
hear the Queen talk in a loud and determined tone, as if giving 
forth orders, until at length the voice died away in a feeble and 
continued lamentation. 

At this crisis Catherine entered the anteroom. “ Be not too 
anxious,” she said, “ the crisis is now over ; but keep the door 
fast ; let no one enter until she is more composed.” 

“ In the name of God, what does this mean ? ” said the page ; 
“ or what was there in the Lady Fleming’s words to excite so wild 
a transport ? ” 

1 Francis II. The French kings after Louis XI. were authorized by the 
Pope to assume this title. 

2 Darnley, heir of the House of Lennox. 

3 Followers of Bothwell, who assisted in the murder of Darnley. 

4 Swarthy; dark. 


422 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ Oh, the Lady Fleming, the Lady Fleming,” said Catherine, 
repeating the words impatiently ; “ the Lady Fleming is a fool ; 
she loves her mistress, yet knows so little how to express her love, 
that were the Queen to ask her for very poison she would deem 
it a point of duty not to resist her commands. I could have 
torn her starched headtire from her formal head. The Queen 
should have as soon had the heart out of my body, as the word 
Sebastian out of my lips. That that piece of weaved tapestry 
should be a woman, and yet not have wit enough to tell a lie! ” 

“ And what was this story of Sebastian ? ” said the page. “ By 
Heaven, Catherine, you are all riddles alike!” 

“You are as great a fool as Fleming,” returned the impatient 
maiden ; “ know ye not that on the night of Henry Darnley’s 
murder, and at the blowing up of the Kirk of Field, the Queen’s 
absence was owing to her attending on a masque at Holyrood, 
given by her to grace the marriage of this same Sebastian, who, 
himself a favored servant, married one of her female attendants, 
who was near to her person? ” 

“ By St. Giles! ” said the page, “ I wonder not at her passion, 
but only marvel by what forgetfulness it was that she could urge 
the Lady Fleming with such a question.” 

“ I cannot account for it,” said Catherine ; “ but it seems as if 
great and violent grief and horror sometimes obscure the memory, 
and spread a cloud like that of an exploding cannon, over the 
circumstances with which they are accompanied. But I may not 
stay here, where I came not to moralize with your wisdom, but 
simply to cool my resentment against that unwise Lady Fleming, 
which I think hath now somewhat abated, so that I shall endure 
her presence without any desire to damage either her curch 1 or 
vasquine . 2 Meanwhile, keep fast that door. I would not for 
my life that any of these heretics saw her in the unhappy state 
which, brought on her as it has been by the success of their own 

1 Linen cap worn by matrons. 

2 Or basquine ; an outer petticoat made in the style used by the Basques, 
inhabitants of the Pyrenees. 


THE ABBOT. 


423 


diabolical plottings, they would not stick to call, in their snuffling 
cant, the judgment of Providence.” 

She left the apartment just as the latch of the outward door 
was raised from without. But the bolt which Roland had drawn 
on the inside resisted the efforts of the person desirous to enter. 
“Who is there? ” said Graeme aloud. 

“ It is I,” replied the harsh and yet slow voice of the steward 
Dryfesdale. 

“ Y ou cannot enter now,” returned the youth. 

“ And wherefore ? ” demanded Dryfesdale, “ seeing I come but 
to do my duty, and inquire what mean the shrieks from the apart- 
ment of the Moabitish woman. Wherefore, I say, since such is 
mine errand, can I not enter? ” 

“ Simply,” replied the youth, “ because the bolt is drawn, and 
I have no fancy to undo it. I have the right side of the door to- 
day, as you had last night.” 

“ Thou art ill advised, thou malapert boy,” replied the steward, 
“ to speak to me in such fashion ; but I shall inform my lady of 
thine insolence.” 

“ The insolence,” said the page, “ is meant for thee only, in fair 
guerdon of thy discourtesy to me. For thy lady’s information, 
I have answer more courteous. You may say that the Queen 
is ill at ease, and desires to be disturbed neither by visits nor 
messages.” 

“ I conjure you, in the name of God,” said the old man, with 
more solemnity in his tone than he had hitherto used, “ to let me 
know if her malady really gains power on her!” 

“ She will have no aid at your hand, or at your lady’s ; where- 
fore, begone, and trouble us no more. We neither want, nor will 
accept of, aid at your hands.” 

With this positive reply, the steward, grumbling and dissatis- 
fied, returned downstairs. 


424 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

T HE Lady of Lochleven sat alone in her chamber, endeavor- 
ing, with sincere but imperfect zeal, to fix her eyes and her 
attention on the black-lettered Bible which lay before her, bound 
in velvet and embroidery, and adorned with massive silver clasps 
and knosps . 1 But she found her utmost efforts unable to with- 
draw her mind from the resentful recollection of what had last 
night passed betwixt her and the Queen, in which the latter had 
with such bitter taunt reminded her of her early and long-repented 
transgression. 

“ Why,” she said, “ should I resent so deeply that another re- 
proaches me with that which I have never ceased to make matter 
of blushing to myself ? And yet, why should this woman, who 
reaps — at least, has reaped — the fruits of my folly, and has jostled 
my son aside from the throne, why should she, in the face of all 
my domestics, and of her own, dare to upbraid me with my shame? 
Is she not in my power? Does she not fear me? Ha! wily 
tempter, I will wrestle with thee strongly, and with better sugges- 
tions than my own evil heart can supply ! ” 

She again took up the sacred volume, and was endeavoring to 
fix her attention on its contents, when she was disturbed by a tap 
at the door of the room. It opened at her command, and the 
steward Dryfesdale entered, and stood before her with a gloomy 
and perturbed expression on his brow. 

“ What has chanced, Dryfesdale, that thou lookest thus? ” said 
his mistress. “ Have there been evil tidings of my son, or of my 
grandchildren ? ” 

“ N°, lady,” replied Dryfesdale, “but you were deeply insulted 
last night, and I fear me thou art as deeply avenged this morning. 
Where is the chaplain? ” 


1 Or knops ; ornamented figures resembling buds. 


THE ABBOT. 


425 


“ What mean you by hints so dark, and a question so sudden ? 
The chaplain, as you well know, is absent at Perth upon an as- 
sembly of the brethren.” 

“ I care not,” answered the steward ; “ he is but a priest of 
Baal.” 

“ Dryfesdale,” said the lady sternly, “ what meanest thou ? I 
have ever heard that in the Low Countries thou didst herd with 
the Anabaptist 1 preachers, those boars which tear up the vintage. 
But the ministry which suits me and my house must content my 
retainers.” 

“I would I had ‘good ghostly counsel, though,” replied the 
steward, not attending to his mistress’s rebuke, and seeming to 
speak to himself. “ This woman of Moab ” — 

“ Speak of her with reverence,” said the lady ; “ she is a king’s 
daughter.” 

“ Be it so,” replied Dryfesdale ; “she goes where there is little 
difference betwixt her and a beggar’s child. Mary of Scotland 
is dying.” 

“Dying, and in my castle!” said the lady, starting up in 
alarm. “ Of what disease, or by what accident? ” 

“ Bear patience, lady. The ministry was mine.” 

“Thine, villain and traitor! How didst thou dare” — 

“ I heard you insulted, lady ; I heard you demand vengeance ; 
I promised you should have it, and I now bring tidings of it.” 

“ Dryfesdale, I trust thou ravest? ” said the lady. 

“ I rave not,” replied the steward. “ That which was written 
of me a million of years ere I saw the light, must be executed by 
me. She hath that in her veins that, I fear me, will soon stop 
the springs of life.” 

“ Cruel villain!” exclaimed the lady, “thou hast not poisoned 
her ? ” 

1 One who holds infant baptism to be invalid. The term belongs particular- 
ly to the followers of John Miinzer, leader of the peasants’ war in Germany, 
and to those of John of Leyden, who tried unsuccessfully to found a socialis- 
tic “Kingdom of New Zion,” in Westphalia, in the early fifteenjfi century. 


426 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ And if I had,” said Dryfesdale, “ what does it so greatly merit? 
Men bane 1 vermin ; why not rid them of their enemies so ? In 
Italy they will do it for a cruizuedor.” 2 

“ Cowardly ruffian, begone from my sight! ” 

“ Think better of my zeal, lady,” said the steward, “and judge 
not without looking around you. Lindesay, Ruthven, and your 
kinsman Morton poniarded Rizzio, and yet you now see no blood 
on their embroidery. The Lord Sempill stabbed the Lord of 
Sanquhar ; does his bonnet sit a jot more awry on his brow ? 
What noble lives in Scotland who has not had a share, for policy 
or revenge, in some such dealing ? and who imputes it to them? 
Be not cheated with names. A dagger or a draught work to the 
same end, and are little unlike ; a glass vial imprisons the one, 
and a leathern sheath the other ; one deals with the brain, the 
other sluices 3 the blood. Yet, I say not I gave aught to this lady.” 

“ What dost thou mean by thus dallying with me ? ” said the 
lady. “ As thou wouldst save thy neck from the rope it merits, 
tell me the whole truth of this story. Thou hast long been 
known a dangerous man.” 

“ Ay, in my master’s service I can be cold and sharp as my 
sword. Be it known to you that when last on shore, I consulted 
with a woman of skill and power, called Nicneven, of whom the 
country has rung for some brief time past. Fools asked her for 
charms to make them beloved, misers for means to increase their 
store ; some demanded to know the future, — an idle wish, since 
it cannot be altered ; others would have an explanation of the 
past, — idler still, since it cannot be- recalled. I heard their 
queries with scorn, and demanded the means of avenging myself 
of a deadly enemy, for I grow old, and may trust no longer to 
Bilboa blade. She gave me a packet. ‘ Mix that,’ said she, ‘ with 
any liquid, and thy vengeance is complete.’ ” 

1 Kill ; here, by poison. 

2 More properly, crusado ; a Portuguese coin, marked with a cross, and 
worth about fifty-two cents. 

3 Lets o^t ; as if a sluice, or floodgate, were opened. 


THE ABBOT. 


427 

"Villain! and you mixed it with the food of this imprisoned 
lady, to the dishonor of thy master’s house ? ” 

"To redeem the insulted honor of my master’s house, I mixed 
the contents of the packet with the jar of succory 1 water. They 
seldom fail to drain it, and the woman loves it over all.” 

" It was a work of hell,” said the Lady Lochleven, "both the 
asking and the granting. Away, wretched man, let us see if aid 
be yet too late! ” 

" They will not admit us, madam, save we enter by force. I 
have been twice at the door, but can obtain no entrance.” 

" We will beat it level with the ground, if needful. And, hold 
— summon Randal hither instantly. — Randal, here is a foul and 
evil chance befallen. Send off a boat*instantly to Kinross ; the 
chamberlain Luke Lundin is said to have skill. Fetch off, too, 
that foul witch Nicneven ; she shall first counteract her own spell, 
and then be burned to ashes in the island of St. Serf. Away — 
away. Tell them to hoist sail and ply oar, as ever they would 
have good of the Douglas’s hand!” 

" Mother Nicneven will not be lightly found, or fetched hither 
on these conditions,” answered Dryfesdale. 

" Then grant her full assurance of safety. Look to it, for thine 
own life must answer for this lady’s recovery.” 

" I might have guessed that,” said Dryfesdale sullenly ; "Tut 
it is my comfort I have avenged mine own cause, as well as yours. 
She hath scoffed and scripped 2 at me, ajid encouraged her saucy 
minion of a page to ridicule my stiff gait and slow speech. I 
felt it borne in upon me that I was to be avenged on them.” 

" Go to the western turret,” said the lady, " and remain there 
in ward until we see how this gear will terminate. I know thy 
resolved disposition ; thou wilt not attempt escape.” 

" Not were the walls of the turret of eggshells, and the lake 
sheeted with ice,” said Dryfesdale. " I am well taught, and 
strong in belief that man does naught of himself. He is but the 

1 A corruption of chicory ; often used as a substitute for coffee. 

2 Mocked. 


S/R WALTER SCOTT 


428 

foam on the billow, which rises, bubbles, and bursts, not by its 
own effort, but by the mightier impulse of fate which urges him. 
Yet, lady, if I may advise, amid this zeal for the life of the Jezebel 1 
of Scotland, forget not what is due to thine own honor, and keep 
the matter secret as you may.” 

So saying, the gloomy fatalist turned from her, and stalked off 
with sullen composure to the place of confinement allotted to him. 

His lady caught at his last hint, and only expressed her fear 
that the prisoner had partaken of some unwholesome food, and 
was dangerously ill. The castle was soon alarmed and in con- 
fusion. Randal was dispatched to the shore to fetch off Lundin, 
with such remedies as could counteract poison ; and with farther 
instructions to bring Mother Nicneven, if she could be found, 
with full power to pledge the Lady of Lochleven’s word for her 
safety. 

Meanwhile the Lady of Lochleven herself held parley at the 
door of the Queen’s apartment, and in vain urged the page to 
undo it. 

“Foolish boy!” she said, “thine own life and thy lady’s are 
at stake. Open, I say, or we will cause the door to be broken 
down.” 

“ I may not open the door without my royal mistress’s orders,” 
answered Roland ; “ she has been very ill, and now she slumbers. 
If you wake her by using violence, let the consequence be on 
you and your followers.” 

“Was ever woman in a strait so fearful!” exclaimed the Lady 
of Lochleven. “ At least, thou rash boy, beware that no one 
tastes the food, but especially the jar of succory water.” 

She then hastened to the turret, where Dryfesdale had com- 
posedly resigned himself to imprisonment. She found him read- 
ing, and demanded of him, “ Was thy fell potion of speedy 
operation ? ” 

“ Slow,” answered the steward. “ The hag asked me which I 

1 A wicked woman; from Jezebel, the shameless and violent wife of 
Ahab, King of Israel (1 Kings xxi.). 


THE ABBOT 


429 

chose. I told her I loved a slow and sure revenge. ‘ Revenge/ 
said I, ‘is the highest-flavored draught which man tastes upon 
earth, and he should sip it by little and little, not drain it up 
greedily at once.’ ” 

“ Against whom, unhappy man, couldst thou nourish so fell a 
revenge ? ” 

“ I had many objects, but the chief was that insolent page.” 

“The boy! thou inhuman man,” exclaimed the lady; “what 
could he do to deserve thy malice ? ” 

“ He rose in your favor, and you graced him with your com- 
missions, — that was one thing. He rose in that of George 
Douglas also, — that was another. He was the favorite of the 
Calvinistic Henderson, who hated me because my spirit disowns 
a separated priesthood. The Moabitish Queen held him dear ; 
winds from each opposing point blew in his favor; the old 
servitor of your house was held lightly among ye ; above all, 
from the first time I saw his face, I longed to destroy him.” 

“ What fiend have I nurtured in my house! ” replied the lady. 
“ May God forgive me the sin of having given thee food and 
raiment ! ” 

“ You might not choose, lady,” answered the steward. “ Long 
ere this castle was builded, ay, long ere the islet which sustains 
it reared its head above the blue water, I was destined to be your 
faithful slave, and you to be my ungrateful mistress. Remember 
you not when I plunged amid the victorious French, in the time 
of this lady’s mother, and brought off your husband, when those 
who had hung at the same breasts with him dared not attempt 
the rescue? Remember how I plunged into the lake when your 
grandson’s skiff was overtaken by the tempest, boarded, and 
steered her safe to the land. Lady, the servant of a Scottish 
baron is he who regards not his own life, or that of any other, 
save his master. And, for the death of the woman, I had tried 
the potion on her sooner, had not Master George been her taster. 
Her death — would it not be the happiest news that Scotland ever 
heard? Is she not of the bloody Guisian stock, whose sword 


430 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

was so often red with the blood of God’s saints ? 1 Is she not the 
daughter of the wretched tyrant, Janies, whom Heaven cast down 
from his kingdom and his pride, even as the King of Babylon 
was smitten? ” 2 

“ Peace, villain ! ” said the lady, a thousand varied recollec- 
tions thronging on her mind at the mention of her royal lover’s 
name; “peace, and disturb not the ashes of the dead, — of the 
royal, of the unhappy, dead. Read thy Bible ; and may God 
grant thee to avail thyself better of its contents than thou hast 
yet done!” She departed hastily, and as she reached the next 
apartment, the tears rose in her eyes so hastily that she was com- 
pelled to stop and use her kerchief to dry them. “ I expected 
not this,” she said, “no more than to have drawn water from the 
dry flint, or sap from a withered tree. I saw with a dry eye the 
apostasy and shame of George Douglas, the hope of my son’s 
house, the child of my love ; and yet I now weep for him who 
has so long lain in his grave, — for him to whom I owe it that 
his daughter can make a scoffing and a jest of my name! But 
she is his daughter. My heart, hardened against her for so 
many causes, relents when a glance of her eye places her father 
unexpectedly before me ; and as often her likeness to that true 
daughter of the House of Guise, her detested mother, has again 
confirmed my resolution. But she must not, must not die in my 
house, and by so foul a practice. Thank God, the operation of 
the potion is slow, and may' be counteracted. I will to her 
apartment once more. But oh! that hardened villain, whose 
fidelity was held in such esteem, and had such high proof of! 
What miracle can unite so much wickedness and so much truth 
in one bosom! ” 

1 The Guises were at all times foremost in the persecution of Huguenots, 
and later, in 1572, a Duke of Guise was the chief instigator of the Massacre 
of St. Bartholomew. 

2 James V. died broken-hearted after the defeat of Solway Moor, 1542. 
As his sympathies were Catholic, Dryfesdale compares his fall to that of Bel- 
shazzar (see Dan. v.). 


THE ABBOT. 


43 


The Lady of Lochleven was not aware how far minds of a 
certain gloomy and determined cast by nature may be warped by 
a keen sense of petty injuries and insults, combining with the love 
of gain and sense of self-interest, and amalgamated with the 
crude, wild, and undigested fanatical opinions which this man had 
gathered among the crazy sectaries of Germany ; or how far the 
doctrines of fatalism, which he had embraced so decidedly, sear 
the human conscience by representing our actions as the result 
of inevitable necessity. 

During her visit to the prisoner, Roland had communicated to 
Catherine the tenor of the conversation he had had with her at 
the door of the apartment. The quick intelligence of that lively 
maiden instantly comprehended the outline of what was believed 
to have happened, but her prejudices hurried her beyond the 
truth. 

“ They meant to have poisoned us,” she exclaimed in horror, 
“ and there stands the fatal liquor which should have done the 
deed! Ay, as soon as Douglas ceased to be our taster, our food 
was likely to be fatally seasoned. Thou, Roland, who shouldst 
have made the essay, wert readily doomed to die with us. — Oh, 
dearest Lady Fleming, pardon, pardon, for the injuries I said to 
you in my anger. Your words were prompted by Heaven to 
save our lives, and especially that of the injured Queen. But 
what have we now to do ? That old crocodile 1 of the lake will 
be presently back to shed her hypocritical tears over our dying 
agonies. Lady Fleming, what shall we do ? ” 

“Our Lady help us in our need!” she replied; “how should 
I tell ? unless we were to make our plaint to the Regent.” 

“ Make our plaint to the Devil,” said Catherine impatiently, 
“and accuse his dam 2 at the foot of his burning throne! The 
Queen still sleeps ; we must gain time. The poisoning hag must 
not know her scheme has miscarried ; the old envenomed spider 

1 Crocodiles were said, by ancient travelers, to shed tears over those they 
devour. 

2 Mother ; here applied to Lady Lochleven. 


43 2 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


has but too many ways of mending her broken web. The jar of 
succory water,” said she — “Roland, if thou be’st a man, help 
me ; — empty the jar on the chimney or from the window — make 
such waste among the viands as if we had made our usual meal, 
and leave the fragments on cup and porringer, but taste nothing 
as thou lovest thy life. I will sit by the Queen, and tell her, at 
her waking, in what a fearful pass we stand. Her sharp wit and 
ready spirit will teach us what is best to be done. Meanwhile, 
till farther notice, observe, Roland, that the Queen is in a state 
of torpor, that Lady Fleming is indisposed. That character,” 
speaking in a lower tone, “will suit her best, and save her wits 
some labor in vain. I am not so much indisposed, thou under- 
standest.” 

“ And I ? ” said the page. 

“ You ? ” replied Catherine ; “ you are quite well. Who thinks 
it worth while to poison puppy dogs or pages ? ” 

“ Does this levity become the time ? ” asked the page. 

“ It does, it does,” answered Catherine Seyton ; “ if the Queen 
approves, I see plainly how this disconcerted attempt may do 
us good service.” 

She went to work while she spoke, eagerly assisted by Roland. 
The breakfast table soon displayed the appearance as if the meal 
had been eaten as usual ; and the ladies retired as softly as pos- 
sible into the Queen’s sleeping apartment. At a new summons 
of the Lady Lochleven, the page undid the door, and admitted 
her into the anteroom, asking her pardon for having withstood 
her, alleging in excuse that the Queen had fallen into a heavy 
slumber since she had broken her fast. 

“ She has eaten and drunken, then ? ” said the Lady of Loch- 
leven. 

“ Surely,” replied the page, “ according to her Grace’s ordinary 
custom, unless upon the fasts of the Church.” 

“ The jar,” she said, hastily examining it, “ it is empty ! Drank 
the Lady Mary the whole of this water ? ” 

“ A large part, madam ; and I heard the Lady Catherine Sey- 


THE ABBOT. 


433 

ton jestingly upbraid the Lady Mary Fleming with having taken 



“ And are they well in health ? ” said the Lady of Lochleven. 

“ Lady Fleming,” said the page, “ complains of lethargy, and 
looks duller than usual ; and the Lady Catherine of Seyton feels 
her head somewhat more giddy than is her wont.” 

He raised his voice a little as he said these words, to apprise 
the ladies of the part assigned to each of them, and not, perhaps, 
without the wish of conveying to the ears of Catherine the page- 
like jest which lurked in the allotment. 

“ I will enter the Queen’s bedchamber,” said the Lady Loch- 
leven ; “ my business is express.” 

As she advanced to the door, the voice of Catherine Seyton 
was heard from within: “No one can enter here; the Queen 
sleeps.” 

“ I will not be controlled, young lady,” replied the Lady of 
Lochleven : “ there is, I wot, no inner bar, and I will enter in 
your despite.” 

“ There is, indeed, no inner bar,” answered Catherine firmly, 
“ but there are the staples where that bar should be ; and into 
those staples have I thrust mine arm, like an ancestress of your 
own , 1 when, better employed than the Douglases of our days, 
she thus defended the bedchamber of her sovereign against mur- 
derers. Try your force, then, and see whether a Seyton cannot 
rival in courage a maiden of the House of Douglas.” 

“ I dare not attempt the pass at such risk,” said the Lady of 
Lochleven. " Strange that this Princess, with all that justly at- 
taches to her as blameworthy, should preserve such empire over 
the minds of her attendants. — Damsel, I give thee my honor that 
I come for the Queen’s safety and advantage. Awaken her, if 

1 Catherine Douglas, a maid of honor, who, when James I. was attacked 
by his rebellious nobles, at Perth, in 1437, thrust her arm through the sta- 
ples, in place of the lacking bolt. Her arm was broken by their entrance. 
She was afterwards known as “ Bar-lass.” 

28 


434 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


thou lovest her, and pray her leave that I may enter. I will 
retire from the door the whilst.” 

“ Thou wilt not awaken the Queen ? ” said the Lady Fleming. 

“ What choice have we ? ” said the ready-witted maiden, “ un- 
less you deem it better to wait till the Lady Lochleven herself 
plays lady of the bedchamber. Her fit of patience will not last 
long, and the Queen must be prepared to meet her.” 

“ But thou wilt bring back her Grace’s fit by thus disturbing 
her.” 

“ Heaven forbid!” replied Catherine ; “but if so, it must pass 
for an effect of the poison. I hope better things, and that the 
Queen will be able when she wakes to form her own judgment 
in this terrible crisis. Meanwhile, do thou, dear Lady Fleming, 
practice to look as dull and heavy as the alertness of thy spirit 
will permit.” 

Catherine kneeled by the side of the Queen’s bed, and, kissing 
her hand repeatedly, succeeded at last in awakening without 
alarming her. She seemed surprised to find that she was ready 
dressed, but sat up in her bed, and appeared so perfectly com- 
posed, that Catherine Seyton, without farther preamble, judged 
it safe to inform her of the predicament in which they were 
placed. Mary turned pale, and crossed herself again and again, 
when she heard the imminent danger in which she had stood. 
But, like the Ulysses 1 of Homer , 2 

“ Hardly waking yet 

Sprung in her mind the momentary wit.” 

and she at once understood her situation, with the dangers and 
advantages that attended it. 

“We cannot do better,” she said, after her hasty conference 

1 King of Ithaca, one of the Greeks who took Troy. His wanderings for 
ten years on his homeward journey form the subject of the Odyssey. He 
was remarkable for his sagacity. 

2 The blind Greek epic poet, reputed author of the Iliad and the Odyssey, 
supposed to have lived in the ninth century B.C. 


THE ABBOT. 


435 


with Catherine, pressing her at the same time to her bosom, and 
kissing her forehead ; “ we cannot do better than to follow the 
scheme so happily devised by thy quick wit and bold affection. 
Undo the door to the Lady Lochleven. She shall meet her 
match in art, though not in perfidy. — Fleming, draw close the 
curtain, and get thee behind it. Thou art a better tire-woman 
than an actress. Do but breathe heavily, and, if thou wilt, groan 
slightly, and it will top thy part. Hark! they come. — Now, 
Catherine of Medici , 1 may thy spirit inspire me, for a cold 
northern brain is too blunt for this scene ! ” 

Ushered by Catherine Seytdn, and stepping as light as she 
could, the Lady Lochleven was shown into the twilight apart- 
ment, and conducted to the side of the couch where Mary, pallid 
and exhausted from a sleepless night, and the subsequent agita- 
tion of the morning, lay extended so listlessly as might well con- 
firm the worst fears of her hostess. 

“ Now, God forgive us our sins! ” said the Lady of Lochleven, 
forgetting her pride, and throwing herself on her knees by the 
side of the bed. “ It is too true — she is murdered! ” 

“Who is in the chamber?” said Mary, as if awaking from 
a heavy sleep. “ Seyton, Fleming, where are you ? I heard a 
strange voice. Who waits ? Call Courcelles.” 

“Alas! her memory is at Holyrood, though her body is at 
Lochleven. — Forgive, madam,” continued the lady, “if I call 
your attention to me. I am Margaret Erskine, of the House of 
Mar, by marriage Lady Douglas of Lochleven.” 

“ Oh, our gentle hostess,” answered the Queen, “ who hath such 
care of our lodgings and of our diet. We cumber you too much 
and too long, good Lady of Lochleven ; but we now trust your 
task of hospitality is well-nigh ended.” 

“Her words go like a knife through my heart,” said the Lady 

l Daughter of Lorenzo de Medici, Duke of Florence, and wife of Henri IT. 
of France. By skillful and unscrupulous intrigues she retained the real 
power of government in her hands during the reigns of her three sons, Fran- 
cis II., Charles IX., and Henri III. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


4 3 6 

of Lochleven. “ With a breaking heart, I pray your Grace to 
tell me what is your ailment, that aid may be had, if there be 
yet time.” 

“ Nay, my ailment,” replied the Queen, “is nothing worth tell- 
ing, or worth a leech’s notice ; my limbs feel heavy, my heart 
feels cold. A prisoner’s limbs and heart are rarely otherwise. 
Fresh air, methinks, and freedom, would soon revive me ; but as 
the Estates 1 have ordered it, death alone can break my prison 
doors.” 

“ Were it possible, madam,” said the lady, “ that your liberty 
could restore your perfect health, I would myself encounter the 
resentment of the Regent, of my son, Sir William, of my whole 
friends, rather than you should meet your fate in this castle.” 

“Alas! madam,” said the Lady Fleming, who conceived the 
time propitious to show that her own address had been held too 
lightly of ; “ it is but trying what good freedom may work upon 
us ; for myself, I think a free walk on the greensward would do 
me much good at heart.” 

The Lady of Lochleven rose from the bedside, and darted a 
penetrating look at the elder valetudinary. “ Are you so evil- 
disposed, Lady Fleming ? ” 

“ Evil-disposed indeed, madam,” replied the court dame, “ and 
more especially since breakfast.” 

“ Help ! help ! ” exclaimed Catherine, anxious to break off a con- 
versation which boded her schemes no good ; “ help! I say, help! 
the Queen is about to pass away. Aid her, Lady Lochleven, if 
you be a woman! ” 

The lady hastened to support the Queen’s head, who, turning 
her eyes towards her with an air of great languor, exclaimed, 
“Thanks, my dearest Lady of Lochleven. Notwithstanding 
some passages of late, I have never misconstrued or misdoubted 
your affection to our house. It was proved, as I have heard, be- 
fore I was born.” 

1 The Scottish Parliament, in which were represented the three classes, or 
estates, of the realm, — clergy, nobles, and common people. 


THE ABBOT. 


437 

The Lady Lochleven sprung from the floor, on which she had 
again knelt, and, having paced the apartment in great disorder, 
flung open the lattice, as if to get air. 

“ Now, Our Lady forgive me!” said Catherine to herself. 
“ How deep must the love of sarcasm be implanted in the breasts 
of us women, since the Queen, with all her sense, will risk ruin 
' rather than rein in her wit!” She then adventured, stooping 
over the Queen’s person, to press her arm with her hand, saying 
at the same time, “ For God’s sake, madam, restrain yourself!” 

“ Thou art too forward, maiden,” said the Queen ; but im- 
mediately added, in a low whisper, “ Forgive me, Catherine ; but 
when I felt the hag’s murderous hands busy about my head and 
neck, I felt such disgust and hatred that I must have said some- 
thing, or died. But I will be schooled to better behavior ; only 
see that thou let her not touch me.” 

“ Now, God be praised! ” said the Lady Lochleven, withdraw- 
ing her head from the window, “ the boat comes as fast as sail 
and oar can send wood through water. It brings the leech and 
a female — certainly, from the appearance, the very person I was 
in quest of. Were she but well out of this castle, with our honor 
safe, I would that she were on the top of the wildest mountain 
in Norway; or I would I had been there myself, ere I had un- 
dertaken this trust.” 

While she thus expressed herself, standing apart at one window, 
Roland Grseme, from the other, watched the boat bursting through 
the waters of the lake, which glided from its side in ripple and 
in foam. He, too, became sensible that at the stern was seated 
the medical chamberlain, clad in his black velvet cloak ; and 
that his own relative, Magdalen Grseme, in her assumed character 
of Mother Nicneven, stood in the bow, her hands clasped to- 
gether and pointed towards the castle, and her attitude, even at 
that distance, expressing enthusiastic eagerness to arrive at the 
landing place. They arrived there accordingly, and while the 
supposed witch was detained in a room beneath, the physician 
was ushered to the Queen’s apartment, which he entered with 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


438 

all due professional solemnity. Catherine had, in the mean while, 
fallen back from the Queen’s bed, and taken an opportunity 
to whisper to Roland, “ Methinks, from the information of the 
threadbare velvet cloak and the solemn beard, there would be 
little trouble in haltering yonder ass . 1 But thy grandmother, 
Roland, — thy grandmother’s zeal will ruin us if she get not a 
hint to dissemble.” 

Roland, without reply, glided towards the door of the apart- 
ment, crossed the parlor, and safely entered the antechamber ; 
but when he attempted to pass farther, the word “ Back ! Back ! ” 
echoed from one to the other by two men armed with carabines, 
convinced him that the Lady of Lochleven’s suspicions had not, 
even in the midst of her alarms, been so far lulled to sleep as to 
omit the precaution of stationing senUritels on her prisoners. He 
was compelled, therefore, to return to the parlor, or audience 
chamber, in which he found the lady of the castle in conference 
with her learned leech. 

“A truce with your cant phrase and your solemn foppery, 
Lundin,” in such terms she accosted the man of art, “ and let me 
know instantly, if thou canst tell, whether this lady hath swallowed 
aught that is less than wholesome.” 

“ Nay, but, good lady, honored patroness, to whom I am alike 
bondsman in my medical and official capacity, deal reasonably 
with me. If this, mine illustrious patient, will not answer a ques- 
tion, saving with sighs and moans ; if that other honorable lady 
will do naught but yawn in my face when I inquire after the 
diagnostics , 2 and if that other young damsel, who I profess is a 
comely maiden ” — 

“ Talk not to me of comeliness or of damsels,” said the Lady 
of Lochleven. “ I say, are they evil-disposed ? In one word, 
man, have they taken poison, ay or no ? ” 

“ Poisons, madam,” said the learned leech, “ are of various 

1 “Haltering,” etc., i.e., making him do as was desired, — accept the 
Queen’s illness as a fact. 

2 Symptoms. 


THE ABBOT. 


439 

sorts. There is your animal poison, as the lepus marinus, 1 as 
mentioned by Dioscorides 2 and Galen ; 3 there are mineral and 
semi-mineral poisons, as those compounded of sublimate regulus 
of antimony, 4 vitriol, and the arsenical salts ; there are your poi- 
sons from herbs and vegetables, as the aqua cymbalariae, opium, 
aconitum, cantharides, and the like ; there are also ” — 

“ Now, out upon thee for a learned fool! and I myself am no 
better for expecting an oracle from such a log,” said the lady. 

“ Nay, but if your ladyship will have patience, — if I knew 
what food they have partaken of, or could see but the remnants 
of what they have last eaten ; for as to the external and internal 
symptoms, I can discover naught like ; for, as Galen saith in his 
second book de Antidotis ” 5 — 

“Away, fool!” said till lady; “send me that hag hither; 
she shall avouch what it was that she hath given to the wretch 
Dryfesdale, or the pilniewinks 6 and thumbikins 7 shall wrench it 
out of her finger joints! ” 

“ Art hath no enemy unless the ignorant,” said the mortified 
Doctor, veiling, however, his remark under the Latin version, 
and stepping apart into a corner to watch the result. 

In a minute or two Magdalen Graeme entered the apartment, 
dressed as we have described her at the revel, but with her muffler 
thrown back, and all affectation of disguise. She was attended 
by two guards, of whose presence she did not seem even to be 
conscious, and who followed her with an air of embarrassment 
and timidity, which was probably owing to their belief in her 
supernatural power, coupled with the effect produced by her bold 

1 The sea hare. 

2 A physician of Cilicia, who wrote a book on medicinal herbs. 

3 A famous physician of the latter half of the second century. 

4 Metallic antimony. 

5 Concerning antidotes. 

6 An ancient instrument of torture, consisting of a board with holes into 
which the fingers were pressed with pegs. 

7 Scottish name for thumbscrews, by which the thumbs were pressed so 
as to cause extreme agony. 


440 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


and undaunted demeanor. She confronted the Lady of Loch- 
leven, who seemed to endure with high disdain the confidence of 
her air and manner. 

“Wretched woman!” said the lady, after essaying for a mo- 
ment to bear her down, before she addressed her, by the stately 
severity of her look, “ what was that powder which thou didst 
give to a servant of this house, by name Jasper Dryfesdale, that 
he might work out with it some slow and secret vengeance? 
Confess its nature and properties, or, by the honor of Douglas, I 
give thee to fire and stake before the sun is lower! ” 

“Alas!” said Magdalen Graeme in reply, “and when became 
a Douglas, or a Douglas’s man, so unfurnished of his means of 
revenge that he should seek them at the hands of a poor and 
solitary woman ? The towers in which your captives pine away 
into unpitied graves, yet stand fast on their foundation ; the 
crimes wrought in them have not yet burst their vaults asunder. 
Your men have still their crossbows, pistolets, and daggers. Why 
need you seek to herbs or charms for the execution of your re- 
venges ? ” 

“ Hear me, foul hag,” said the Lady Lochleven, — “but what 
avails speaking to thee ? — Bring Dryfesdale hither, and let them 
be confronted together.” 

“You may spare your retainers the labor,” replied Magdalen 
Graeme. “ I came not here to be confronted with a base groom. 
I came to speak with the Queen of Scotland. — Give place there ! ” 

And while the Lady Lochleven stood confounded at her bold- 
ness, Magdalen Graeme strode past her into the bedchamber of 
the Queen, and, kneeling on the floor, made a salutation as if, in 
the Oriental fashion, she meant to touch the earth with her fore- 
head. 

“Hail, Princess!” she said, “hail, daughter of many a king, 
but graced above them all, in that thou art called to suffer for 
the true faith ! Hail to thee, the pure gold of whose crown has 
been tried in the seven-times heated furnace of affliction! Hear 
the comfort which God and Our Lady send thee by the mouth 


THE ABBOT. 


441 


of thy unworthy servant. But first,” and stooping her head she 
crossed herself repeatedly, and, still upon her knees, appeared to 
be rapidly reciting some formula of devotion. 

“Seize her, and drag her to the massy-more! — to the deepest 
dungeon with the sorceress, whose master, the Devil, could alone 
have inspired her with boldness enough to insult the mother of 
Douglas in his own castle!” 

Thus spoke the incensed Lady of Lochleven, but the physician 
presumed to interpose. 

“ I pray of you, honored madam, she be permitted to take her 
course without interruption. Peradventure we shall learn some- 
thing concerning the nostrum 1 she hath ventured, contrary to law 
and the rules of art, to adhibit to these ladies, through the medium 
of the steward Dryfesdale.” 

“For a fool,” replied the Lady of Lochleven, “thou hast 
counseled wisely. I will bridle my resentment till their confer- 
ence be over.” 

“ God forbid, honored lady,” said Dr. Lundin, “ that you 
should suppress it longer. Nothing may more endanger the frame 
of your honored body ; and truly, if there be witchcraft in this 
matter, it is held by the vulgar, and even by solid authors on 
demonology, that three scruples of the ashes of the witch, when 
she hath been well and carefully burned at a stake, is a grand 
catholicon 2 in such matter, even as they prescribe crinis canis 
rabidi , 3 a hair of the dog that bit the patient, in cases of hydro- 
phobia. I warrant neither treatment, being out of the regular 
practice of the schools ; but, in the present case, there can be 
little harm in trying the conclusion upon this old necromancer 
and quacksalver . 4 Fia experimentum (as we say) in corpore vili .” 5 

“ Peace, fool!” said the lady, “she is about to speak.” 

1 A medicine ; named from the custom of quacks of praising each his own 
drugs. 

2 A universal remedy. 3 A hair of the mad dog. 

4 Witch and quack (Dutch kwakzalver). 

5 An experiment should be made upon a body of no value. 


442 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


At that moment Magdalen Graeme arose from her knees, and 
turned her countenance on the Queen, at the same time advanc- 
ing her foot, extending her arm, and assuming the mien and 
attitude of a sibyl 1 in frenzy. As her gray hair floated back from 
beneath her coif, and her eye gleamed fire from under its shaggy 
eyebrow, the effect of her expressive though emaciated features 
was heightened by an enthusiasm approaching to insanity, and 
her appearance struck with awe all who were present. Her eyes 
for a time glanced wildly around as if seeking for something to 
aid her in collecting her powers of expression, and her lips had 
a nervous and quivering motion, as those of one who would fain 
speak, yet rejects as inadequate the words which present them- 
selves. Mary herself caught the infection as if by a sort of mag- 
netic influence, and raising herself from her bed, without be- 
ing able to withdraw her eyes from those of Magdalen, waited 
as if for the oracle of a pythoness . 2 She waited not long, for no 
sooner had the enthusiast collected herself than her gaze became 
intensely steady, her features assumed a determined energy, and 
when she began to speak, the words flowed from her with a pro- 
fuse fluency which might have passed for inspiration, and which, 
perhaps, she herself mistook for such. 

“Arise,” she said, “ Queen of France and of England! Arise, 
Lioness of Scotland, and be not dismayed though the nets of the 
hunters have encircled thee! Stoop not to feign with the false 
ones, whom thou shalt soon meet in the field. The issue of battle 
is with the God of armies, but by battle thy cause shall be tried. 
Lay aside, then, the arts of lower mortals, and assume those which 
become a Queen! True defender of the only true faith, the 
armory of heaven is open to thee! Faithful daughter of the 
Church, take the keys of St. Peter, to bind and to loose ! 3 Royal 

1 From the Latin sibylla , a prophetess. The most famous was the Cu- 
msean Sibyl (see iEneid, Book VI.). 

2 The title of the Grecian priestess who, in a frenzy, received and uttered 
the oracle of Apollo, at Delphi. 

3 See Matt. xvi. 19. 


THE ABBOT. 


443 

Princess of the land, take the sword of St. Paul, 1 to smite and to 
shear! There is darkness in thy destiny ; but not in these towers, 
not under the rule of their haughty mistress, shall that destiny 
be closed. In other lands the lioness may crouch to the power 
of the tigress, but not in her own, 2 — not in Scotland shall the 
Queen of Scotland long remain captive ; nor is the fate of the 
royal Stuart in the hands of the traitor Douglas. Let the Lady 
of Lochleven double her bolts and deepen her dungeons, they shall 
not retain thee. Each element shall give thee its assistance ere 
thou shalt continue captive ; the land shall lend its earthquakes, 
the water its waves, the air its tempests, the fire its devouring 
flames, to desolate this house, rather than it shall continue the 
place of thy captivity. Hear this, and tremble, all ye who fight 
against the light, for she says it to whom it hath been assured ! ” 

She was silent, and the astonished physician said, “If there 
was ever an energumene , or possessed demoniac, in our days, 
there is a devil speaking with that woman's tongue ! ” 

“ Practice,” 3 said the Lady of Lochleven, recovering her sur- 
prise ; “ here is all practice and imposture. To the dungeon with 
her!” 

“ Lady of Lochleven,” said Mary, arising-from her bed, and 
coming forward with her wonted dignity, “ ere you make arrest 
on any one in our presence, hear me but one word. I have done 
you some wrong. I believed you privy to the murderous pur- 
pose of your vassal, and I deceived you in suffering you to be- 
lieve it had taken effect. I did you wrong, Lady of Lochleven, 
for I perceive your purpose to aid me was sincere. We tasted 
not of the liquid, nor are we now sick, save that we languish for 
our freedom.” 

“It is avowed like Mary of Scotland,” said Magdalen Graeme ; 

1 “The sword of St. Paul,” i.e., the conquering power of the Church, 
represented by St. Paul as the Apostle to the Gentiles. 

2 Prophetic foreshadowing of the long captivity, and death, of Mary Stuart 
in England. 

3 Artful deception. 


444 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“and know, besides, that had the Queen drained the draught 
to the dregs, it was harmless as the water from a sainted spring. — 
Trow ye, proud woman,” she added, addressing herself to the 
Lady of Lochleven, “ that I — I would have been the wretch 
to put poison in the hands of a servant or vassal of the house 
of Lochleven, knowing whom that house contained ? As soon 
would I have furnished drug to slay my own daughter ! ” 

“ Am I thus bearded in mine own castle ? ” said the lady. 
“ To the dungeon with her! She shall abye 1 what is due to the 
vender of poisons and practicer of witchcraft.” 

“ Yet hear me for an instant, Lady of Lochleven,” said Mary ; 
— “ and do you,” to Magdalen, “be silent at my command. — Your 
steward, lady, has, by confession, attempted my life, and those 
of my household, and this woman hath done her best to save 
them, by furnishing him with what was harmless in place of the 
fatal drugs which he expected. Methinks I propose to you but 
a fair exchange when I say I forgive your vassal with all my 
heart, and leave vengeance to God, and to his conscience, so 
that you also forgive the boldness of this woman in your presence ; 
for we trust you do not hold it as a crime that she substituted 
an innocent beverage for the mortal poison which was to have 
drenched our cup.” 

“Heaven forefend, madam,” said the lady, “that I should 
account that a crime which saved the House of Douglas from a 
foul breach of honor and hospitality! We have written to our 
son touching our vassal’s delict , 2 and he must abide his doom, 
which will most likely be death. Touching this woman, her 
trade is damnable by Scripture, and is mortally punished by the 
wise laws of our ancestry. She also must abide her doom.” 

“ And have I then,” said the Queen, “ no claim on the House of 
Lochleven for the wrong I have so nearly suffered within their 
walls ? I ask but in requital the life of a frail and aged woman, 
whose brain, as yourself may judge, seems somewhat affected by 
years and suffering.” 

1 Suffer for ; make amends. 


2 Crime. 


THE ABBOT. 


445 

“ If the Lady Mary,” replied the inflexible Lady of Lochleven, 
“ hath been menaced with wrong in the house of Douglas, it may 
be regarded as some compensation that her complots have cost 
that house the exile of a valued son.” 

“ Plead no more for me, my gracious Sovereign,” said Magdalen 
Graeme, “ nor abase yourself to ask so much as a gray hair of my 
head at her hands. I knew the risk at which I served my Church 
; and my Queen, and was ever prompt to pay my poor life as the 
ransom. It is a comfort to think that in slaying me, or in re- 
I straining my freedom, or even in injuring that single gray hair, 
the house, whose honor she boasts so highly, will have filled up 
the measure of their shame by the breach of their solemn written 
assurance of safety.” And taking from her bosom a paper, she 
handed it to the Queen. 

“ It is a solemn assurance of safety in life and limb,” said Queen 
Mary, “ with space to come and go, under the hand and seal of 
the chamberlain of Kinross, granted to Magdalen Graeme, com- 
monly called Mother Nicneven, in consideration of her consenting 
to put herself, for the space of twenty-four hours, if required, 
within the iron gate of the Castle of Lochleven.” 

“Knave!” said the lady, turning to the chamberlain, “how 
dared you grant her such a protection ? ” 

“It was by your ladyship’s orders, transmitted by Randal, as 
he can bear witness,” replied Dr. Lundin ; “ nay, I am only like 
the pharmacopolist, who compounds the drugs after the order of 
the mediciner.” 

“ I remember, I remember,” answered the lady, “ but I meant 
the assurance only to be used in case, by residing in another 
jurisdiction, she could not have been apprehended under our 
warrant.” 

“Nevertheless,” said the Queen, “the Lady of Lochleven is 
bound by the action of her deputy in granting the assurance.” 

“ Madam,” replied the lady, “ the House of Douglas have 
never broken their safe-conduct, and never will. Too deeply did 
they suffer by such a breach of trust, exercised on themselves, 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


446 

when your Grace’s ancestor, the second James, in defiance of 
the rights of hospitality, and of his own written assurance of 
safety, poniarded the brave Earl of Douglas with his own hand, 
and within two yards of the social board at which he had just 
before sat, the King of Scotland’s honored guest.” 1 

“ Methinks,” said the Queen carelessly, “ in consideration of so 
very recent and enormous a tragedy, which I think only chanced 
some six score years agone, the Douglases should have shown 
themselves less tenacious of the company of their sovereigns than 
you, Lady of Lochleven, seem to be of mine.” 

“ Let Randal,” said the lady, “ take the hag back to Kinross, 
and set her at full liberty, discharging her from our bounds in 
future, on peril of her head. — And let your wisdom,” to the 
chamberlain, “keep her company. And fear not for your 
character, though I send you in such company ; for, granting her 
to be a witch, it would be a waste of fagots to burn you for a 
wizard.” 

The crestfallen chamberlain was preparing to depart ; but Mag- 
dalen Graeme, collecting herself, was about to reply, when the 
Queen interposed, saying, “ Good mother, we heartily thank 
you for your unfeigned zeal towards our person, and pray you, 
as our liege woman, that you abstain from whatever may lead you 
into personal danger ; and, farther, it is our will that you depart 
without a word of farther parley with any one in this castle. For 
thy present guerdon, take this small reliquary. It was given to 
us by our uncle the cardinal, 2 and hath had the benediction of 
the Holy Father himself ; and now depart in peace and in silence. 
— For you, learned sir,” continued the Queen, advancing to the 
Doctor, who made his reverence in a manner doubly embarrassed 
by the awe of the Queen’s presence, which made him fear to do 

1 About the middle of the fifteenth century, when the Earl, though he 
had roused half Scotland to rebellion, visited James in Stirling Castle, and, 
by obstinate refusal to dissolve the confederacy, enraged the King so greatly 
that he plunged his dagger into Douglas’s heart. 

2 The Cardinal of Lorraine, brother of Mary of Guise. 


THE ABBOT. 


447 


too little, and by the apprehension of his lady’s displeasure, in 
case he should chance to do too much, “ for you, learned sir, 
as it was not your fault, though surely our own good fortune, that 
we did not need your skill at this time, it would not become us, 
however circumstanced, to suffer our leech to leave us without 
such guerdon as we can offer.” 

With these words, and with the grace which never forsook her, 
though, in the present case, there might lurk under it a little 
gentle ridicule, she offered a small embroidered purse to the 
chamberlain, who, with extended hand and arched back, his 
learned face stooping until a physiognomist might have practiced 
the metoposcopical science 1 upon it as seen from behind betwixt 
his gambadoes , 2 was about to accept of the professional recom- 
pense offered by so fair as well as illustrious a hand. But the 
lady interposed, and, regarding the chamberlain, said aloud, 
“ No servant of our house, without instantly relinquishing that 
character, and incurring withal our highest displeasure, shall dare 
receive any gratuity at the hand of the Lady Mary.” 

Sadly and slowly the chamberlain raised his depressed stature 
into the perpendicular attitude, and left the apartment dejectedly, 
followed by Magdalen Graeme, after, with mute but expressive 
gesture, she had kissed the reliquary with which the Queen had 
presented her, and, raising her clasped hands and uplifted eyes 
towards Heaven, had seemed to entreat a benediction upon the 
royal dame. As she left the castle, and went towards the quay 
where the boat lay, Roland Graeme, anxious to communicate 
with her if possible, threw himself in her way, and might have 
succeeded in exchanging a few words with her, as she was guarded 
only by the dejected chamberlain and his halberdiers, but she 
seemed to have taken, in its most strict and literal acceptation, 
the command to be silent which she had received from the Queen ; 
for, to the repeated signs of her grandson, she only replied by 

1 Physiognomy ; the art of reading character by the features and lines of 
the face. 

2 Spatterdashes, or riding trousers. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


448 

laying her finger on her lip. Dr. Lundin was not so reserved. 
Regret for the handsome gratuity, and for the compulsory task 
of self-denial imposed on him, had grieved the spirit of that worthy 
officer and learned mediciner. “ Even thus, my friend,” said he, 
squeezing the page’s hand as he bade him farewell, “is merit 
rewarded. I came to cure this unhappy lady, and I profess she 
well deserves the trouble, for, say what they will of her, she hath 
a most winning manner, a sweet voice, a gracious smile, and a 
most majestic wave of her hand. If she was not poisoned, say, 
my dear Master Roland, was that fault of mine, I being ready to 
cure her if she had ? And now I am denied the permission to 
accept my well-earned honorarium . 1 O Galen! O Hippocrates! 
is the graduate’s cap and doctor’s scarlet brought to this pass! 
Frustra fatigamus remediis cegros / ” 2 

He wiped his eyes, stepped on the gunwale, and the boat pushed 
off from the shore, and went merrily across the lake which was 
dimpled by the summer wind . 3 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

F ROM the agitating scene in the Queen’s presence chamber, 
the Lady of Lochleven retreated to her own apartment, and 
ordered the steward to be called before her. 

“ Have they not disarmed thee, Dryfesdale ? ” she said, on 
seeing him enter, accoutered, as usual, with sword and dagger. 

“ No! ” replied the old man ; “ how should they ? Your lady- 


1 Fee for service rendered, especially by a physician. 

2 In vain we fatigue the sick with remedies. 

3 The whole account of the steward’s supposed conspiracy against the life 
of Mary is grounded upon an expression in one of her letters, which affirms 
that Jasper Dryfesdale, one of the Laird of Lochleven’s servants, had threat- 
ened to murder Douglas for his share in the Queen’s escape, and to plant a 
dagger in Mary’s own heart. 


THE ABBOT. 


449 

ship, when you commanded me to ward, said naught of laying 
down my arms ; and I think none of your menials, without your 
order, or your son’s, dare approach Jasper Dryfesdale for such a 
purpose. Shall I now give up my sword to you ? It is worth 
little now, for it has fought for your house till it is worn down to 
old iron, like the pantler’s old chipping knife.” 1 

“You have attempted a deadly crime, — poison under trust.” 

“ Under trust ? hem! I know not what your ladyship thinks 
of it, but the world without thinks the trust was given you even 
for that very end ; and you would have been well off had it been 
so ended as I proposed, and you neither the worse nor the wiser.” 

“Wretch!” exclaimed the lady, “and fool as well as villain, 
who could not even execute the crime he had planned ! ” 

“ I bid as fair for it as man could,” replied Dryfesdale ; “ I 
went to a woman, — a witch and a Papist. If I found not poison, 
it was because it was otherwise predestined. I tried fair for it ; 
but the half-done job may be clouted , 2 if you will.” 

“ Villain ! I am even now about to send off an express mes- 
senger to my son, to take order how thou shouldst be disposed of. 
Prepare thyself for death, if thou canst.” 

“He that looks on death, lady,” answered Dryfesdale, “as 
that which he may not shun, and which has its own fixed and 
certain hour, is ever prepared for it. He that is hanged in May 
will eat no flaunes 3 in midsummer ; so there is the moan made 
for the old serving man. But whom, pray I, send you on so fair 
an errand ? ” 

“ There will be no lack of messengers,” answered his mistress. 

“ By my hand, but there will,” replied the old man ; “ your 
castle is but poorly manned, considering the watches that you 
must keep, having this charge. There is the warder, and two 
others, whom you discarded for tampering with Master George ; 
then for the warder’s tower, the bailie , 4 the donjon, — five men 

1 Chopping knife, for mincing meat. 

2 Patched up ; literally, mended with clouts. 

3 Pancakes. 4 Outer court of a castle. 


29 


45 ° 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


mount each guard, and the rest must sleep for the most part in 
their clothes. To send away another man were to harass the 
sentinels to death, — unthrifty misuse for a household. To take 
in new soldiers were dangerous, the charge requiring tried men. 
I see but one thing for it. I will do your errand to Sir William 
Douglas myself.” 

“ That were indeed a resource ! And on what day within 
twenty years would it be done ? ” said the lady. 

“ Even with the speed of man and horse,” said Dryfesdale ; 
“ for though I care not much about the latter days of an old 
serving man’s life, yet I would like to know as soon as may be 
whether my neck is mine own or the hangman’s.” 

“ Holdest thou thy own life so lightly ? ” said the lady. 

“ Else I had recked more of that of others,” said the pre- 
destinarian. “ What is death ? It is but ceasing to live. And 
what is living ? A weary return of light and darkness, sleeping 
and waking, being hungered and eating. Your dead man needs 
neither candle nor can, neither fire nor feather bed ; and the 
joiner’s chest 1 serves him for an eternal frieze jerkin.” 

“ Wretched man! believest thou not that after death comes the 
judgment ? ” 

“ Lady,” answered Dryfesdale, “ as my mistress, I may not 
dispute your words ; but, as spiritually speaking, you are still but 
a burner of bricks in Egypt , 2 ignorant of the freedom of the 
saints; for, as was well shown to me by that gifted man, Nico- 
laus Schoefferbach, who was martyred by the bloody Bishop of 
Munster , 3 he cannot sin who doth but execute that which is pre- 
destined, since” — 

1 Coffin ; a joiner is one who makes furniture by joining pieces of wood. 

2 “A burner,” etc., i.e., in captivity like that of the children of Israel 
under Pharaoh, before they were led into freedom by Moses. 

3 The excesses of the Anabaptist socialists in Westphalia led, in 1536, to 
the violent suppression, by the Bishop of Munster, of all departure from 
Catholicism. The bodies of John of Leyden and two of his followers were 
exposed in iron cages on the church tower of Munster. 


THE ABBOT. 


45 1 

“ Silence ! ” said the lady, interrupting him. “ Answer me not 
with thy bold and presumptuous blasphemy, but hear me. Thou 
hast been long the servant of our house ” — 

“ The born servant of the Douglas. They have had the last of 
me ; I served them since I left Lockerbie . 1 I was then ten years 
old, and you may soon add the threescore to it.” 

“ Thy foul attempt has miscarried, so thou art guilty only in 
intention. It were a deserved deed to hang thee on the warder’s 
tower ; and yet, in thy present mind, it were but giving a soul 
to Satan. I take thine offer, then. Go hence. Here is my 
packet ; I will add to it but a line, to desire him to send me a 
faithful servant or two to complete the garrison. Let my son 
deal with you as he will. If thou art wise, thou wilt make for 
Lockerbie so soon as thy foot touches dry land, and let the packet 
find another bearer ; at all rates, look it miscarries not.” 

“ Nay, madam,” replied he, “ I was bom, as I said, the Douglas’s 
servant, and I will be no corbie-messenger in mine old age. Your 
message to your son shall be done as truly by me as if it concerned 
another man’s neck. I take my leave of your honor.” 

The lady issued her commands, and the old man was ferried 
over to the shore, to proceed on his extraordinary pilgrimage. 
It is necessary the reader should accompany him on his journey, 
which Providence had determined should not be of long duration. 

On arriving at the village, the steward, although his disgrace 
had transpired, was readily accommodated with a horse by the 
chamberlain’s authority; and the roads being by no means 
esteemed safe, he associated himself with Auchtermuchty, the 
common carrier, in order to travel in his company to Edinburgh. 

The worthy wagoner, according to the established custom of 
all carriers, stage coachmen, and other persons in public author- 
ity, from the earliest days to the present, never wanted good rea- 
sons for stopping upon the road as often as he would ; and the 
place which had most captivation for him as a resting place was 
a change house, as it was termed, not very distant from a roman- 
1 A town in the parish of Dryfesdale, Dumfriesshire. 


45 2 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


tic dell well known by the name of Keiry Craigs. Attractions of 
a kind very different from those which arrested the progress of 
John Auchtermuchty and his wains, still continue to hover round 
this romantic spot, and none have visited its vicinity without a 
desire to remain long and to return soon. 

Arrived near his favorite howjf J 1 not all the authority of Dryfes- 
dale (much diminished indeed by the rumors of his disgrace) 
could prevail on the carrier, obstinate as the brutes which he 
drove, to pass on without his accustomed halt, for which the 
distance he had traveled furnished little or no pretense. Old 
Keltie, the landlord, who has bestowed his name on a bridge in 
the neighborhood of his quondam dwelling, received the carrier 
with his usual festive cordiality, and adjourned with him into the 
house, under pretense of important business, which, I believe, 
consisted in their emptying together a mutchkin 2 stoup of usque- 
baugh. While the worthy host and his guest were thus employed, 
the discarded steward, with a double portion of moroseness in 
his gesture and look, walked discontentedly into the kitchen of 
the place, which was occupied but by one guest. The stranger 
was a slight figure, scarce above the age of boyhood, and in the 
dress of a page, but bearing an air of haughty, aristocratic bold- 
ness, and even insolence, in his look and manner, that might have 
made Dryfesdale conclude he had pretensions to superior rank, 
had not his experience taught him how frequently these airs of 
superiority were assumed by the domestics and military retainers 
of the Scottish nobility. “ The pilgrim’s morning 3 to you, old 
sir,” said the youth ; “ you come, as I think, from Lochleven 
Castle. What news of our bonny Queen ? A fairer dove was 
never pent up in so wretched a dovecot.” 

“ They that speak of Lochleven, and of those whom its walls 
contain,” answered Dryfesdale, “ speak of what concerns the 
Douglas ; and they who speak of what concerns the Douglas, do 
it at their peril.” 

1 Haunt. 2 A measure equal to an English pint. 

3 “ The pilgrim’s morning,” i.e., a pleasant morning for a journey. 


THE ABBOT. 


453 


“ Do you speak from fear of them, old man, or would you 
make a quarrel for them ? I should have deemed your age might 
have cooled your blood.” 

“ Never, while there are empty-pated coxcombs at each corner 
to keep it warm.” 

“ The sight of thy gray hairs keeps mine cold,” said the boy, 
who had risen up and now sat down again. 

“ It is well for thee, or I had cooled it with this holly rod,” 
replied the steward. “ I think thou be’st one of those swash- 
bucklers who brawl in alehouses and taverns ; and who, if words 
were pikes, and oaths were Andrew Ferraras, would soon place 
the religion of Babylon in the land once more, and the woman 
of Moab upon the throne.” 

“ Now, by St. Bennet 1 of Seyton,” said the youth, “ I will strike 
thee on the face, thou foul-mouthed old railing heretic ! ” 

“ St. Bennet of Seyton ! ” echoed the steward ; “ a proper war- 
rant is St. Bennet’s, and for a proper nest of wolf birds 2 like 
the Seytons! I will arrest thee as a traitor to King James and 
the good Regent. — Ho! John Auchtermuchty, raise aid against 
the King’s traitor! ” 

So saying, he laid his hand on the youth’s collar, and drew his 
sword. John Auchtermuchty looked in, but, seeing the naked 
weapon, ran faster out than he entered. Keltie, the landlord, 
stood by and helped neither party, only exclaiming, “ Gentlemen! 
gentlemen! for the love of Heaven!” and so forth. A struggle 
ensued, in which the young man, chafed at Dryfesdale’s boldness, 
and unable, with the ease he expected, to extricate himself from 
the old man’s determined grasp, drew his dagger, and with the 
speed of light, dealt him three wounds in the breast and body, 
the least of which was mortal. The old man sunk on the ground 
with a deep groan, and the host set up a piteous exclamation of 
surprise. 

“ Peace, ye brawling hound! ” said the wounded steward ; are 
dagger stabs and dying men such rarities in Scotland, that you 

l St. Benedict (see Note 3, p. 203). 2 Birds of prey. 


454 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


should cry as if the house were falling? — Youth, I do not forgive 
thee, for there is naught betwixt us to forgive. Thou hast done 
what I have done to more than one, and I suffer what I have 
seen them suffer. It was all ordained to be thus and not other- 
wise. But if thou wouldst do me right, thou wilt send this packet 
safely to the hands of Sir William Douglas ; and see that my 
memory suffer not, as if I would have loitered on mine errand 
for fear of my life.” 

The youth, whose passion had subsided the instant he had done 
the deed, listened with sympathy and attention, when another 
person, muffled in his cloak, entered the apartment, and ex- 
claimed, “Good God! Dryfesdale, and expiring!” 

“ Ay, and Dryfesdale would that he had been dead,” answered 
the wounded man, “ rather than that his ears had heard the words 
of the only Douglas that ever was false. But yet it is better as 
it is. — Good my murderer, and the rest of you, stand back a little, 
and let me speak with this unhappy apostate. — Kneel down by 
me, Master George. You have heard that I failed in my attempt 
to take away that Moabitish stumbling-block and her retinue. 
I gave them that which I thought would have removed the tempta- 
tion out of thy path, and this, though I had other reasons to show 
to thy mother and others, I did chiefly purpose for love of thee.” 

“For the love of me, base poisoner!” answered Douglas, 
“ wouldst thou have committed so horrible, so unprovoked, a 
murder, and mentioned my name with it ? ” 

“ And wherefore not, George of Douglas ? ” answered Dryfes- 
dale. “ Breath is now scarce with me, but I would spend my last 
gasp on this argument. Hast thou not, despite the honor thou 
owest to thy parents, the faith that is due to thy religion, the 
truth that is due to thy King, been so carried away by the charms 
of this beautiful sorceress that thou wouldst have helped her to 
escape from her prison house, and lent her thine arm again to 
ascend the throne, which she had made a place of abomination? 
Nay, stir not from me. My hand, though fast stiffening, has 
yet force enough to hold thee. What dost thou aim at? to wed 


THE ABBOT. 


455 


this witch of Scotland ? I warrant thee, thou mayest succeed. 
Her heart and hand have been oft won at a cheaper rate than 
thou, fool that thou art, would think thyself happy to pay. But, 
should a servant of thy father’s house have seen thee embrace 
the fate of the idiot Darnley, or of the villain Bothwell — the fate 
of the murdered fool, or of the living pirate 1 — while an ounce of 
ratsbane would have saved thee ? ” 

“ Think on God, Dryfesdale,” said George Douglas, “ and leave 
the utterance of those horrors. Repent, if thou canst; if not, 
at least be silent. — Seyton, aid me to support this dying wretch, 
that he may compose himself to better thoughts, if it be possible.” 

“ Seyton! ” answered the dying man, “ Seyton! Is it by a Sey- 
ton’s hand that I fall at last ? There is something of retribution 
in that, since the house had nigh lost a sister by my deed. ” Fix- 
ing his fading eyes on the youth, he added, “He hath her very 
features and presence! — Stoop- down, youth, and let me see thee 
closer. I would know thee when we meet in yonder world, for 
homicides will herd together there, and I have been one.” He 
pulled Seyton’s face, in spite of some resistance, closer to his own, 
looked at him fixedly, and added, “ Thou hast begun young ; thy 
career will be the briefer, — ay, thou wilt be met with , 2 and that 
anon. A young plant never throve that was watered with an old 
man’s blood. — Yet why blame I thee ? — Strange turns of fate,” 
he muttered, ceasing to address Seyton, “ I designed what I could 
not do, and he has done what he did not perchance design. 
Wondrous, that our will should ever oppose itself to the strong 
and uncontrollable tide of destiny ! that we should strive with 
the stream when we might drift with the current! My brain will 
serve me to question it no farther. I would Schoefferbach were 
here, — yet why ? I am on a course which the vessel can hold 
without a pilot. — Farewell, George of Douglas. I die true to 
thy father’s house.” He fell into convulsions at these words, and 
shortly after expired. 


1 Bothwell, after his flight from Carberry Hill, fled to Norway and became 
a pirate. 2 “ Met with,” i.e., opposed; here, killed. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


45 6 

Seyton and Douglas stood looking on the dying man, and 
when the scene was closed, the former was the first to speak. 
“ As I live, Douglas, I meant not this, and am sorry ; but he laid 
hands on me, and compelled me to defend my freedom, as I best 
might, with my dagger. If he were ten times thy friend and 
follower, I can but say that I am sorry.” 

“ I blame thee not, Seyton,” said Douglas, “ though I lament 
the chance. There is an overruling destiny above us, though not 
in the sense in which it was viewed by that wretched man, who, 
beguiled by some foreign mystagogue , 1 used .he awful word as 
the ready apology for whatever he chose tc do. We must ex- 
amine the packet.” 

They withdrew into an inner room, and remained deep in con- 
sultation until they were disturbed by the entrance of Keltie, who, 
with an embarrassed countenance, asked Master George Doug- 
las’s pleasure respecting the disposal of the body. “ Your honor 
knows,” he added, “ that I make my bread by living men, not by 
dead corpses ; and old Mr. Dryfesdale, who was but a sorry cus- 
tomer while he was alive, occupies my public room now that he 
is deceased, and can neither call for ale nor brandy.” 

“ Tie a stone round his neck,” said Seyton, “and when the sun 
is down, have him to the Loch of Ore , 2 heave him in, and let 
him alone for finding out the bottom.” ^ 

“Under your favor, sir,” said George Douglas, “it shall not 
be so. — Keltie, thou art a true fellow to me, and thy having been 
so shall advantage thee. Send or take the body to the chapel 
at Scotland’s Wall , 3 or to the church of Ballingry , 4 and tell what 
tale thou wilt of his having fallen in a brawl with some unruly 
guests of thine. Auchtermuchty knows naught else, nor are the 
times so peaceful as to admit close looking into such accounts.” 

1 One who claims to instruct in mysteries. 

2 A small lake in Fifeshire, near Lochleven. 

3 Remains of the wall built by the Romans from the Forth to the Clyde, 
to defend their conquests against the Piets of Fife. 

4 The parish in which Loch Ore lies. 


THE ABBOT. 


457 

“ Nay, let him tell the truth,” said Seyton, “so far as it harms 
not our scheme. — Say that Henry Seyton met with him, my good 
fellow. I care not a brass bodle for the feud.” 

“ A feud with the Douglas was ever to be feared, however,” 
said George, displeasure mingling with his natural deep gravity 
of manner. 

“ Not when the best of the name is on my side,” replied Seyton. 

“Alas! Henry, if thou meanest me, I am but half a Douglas 
in this emprise, — half head, half heart, and half hand. But I will 
think on one whi can never be forgotten, and be all, or more, 
than any of my aQcestors was ever. — Keltie, say it was Henry 
Seyton did the deed; but beware, not a word of me! Let 
Auchtermuchty carry this packet ” (which he had resealed with 
his own signet) “ to my father at Edinburgh ; and here is to pay 
for the funeral expenses, and thy loss of custom.” 

“ And the washing of the floor,” said the landlord, “ which will 
be an extraordinary job ; for blood, they say, will scarcely ever 
cleanse out.” 

“ But as for your plan,” said George of Douglas, addressing 
Seyton as if in continuation of what they had been before treat- 
ing of, “ it has a good face ; but, under your favor, you are your- 
self too hot and too young, besides other reasons which are much 
against your playing tin. part you propose.” 

“ We will consult the Father Abbot upon it,” said the youth. 
“Do you ride to Kinross to-night ? ” 

“Ay, so I purpose,” answered Douglas; “the night will be 
dark, and suits a muffled man. 1 — Keltie, I forgot, there should 
be a stone laid on that man’s grave, recording his name, and his 
only merit, which was being a faithful servant to the Douglas.” 

“What religion was the man of ? ” said Seyton. “ He used words 
which make me fear I have sent Satan a subject before his time.” 

“ I can tell you little of that,” said George Douglas ; “ he was 

l “A muffled man,” i.e., a disguised man; originally, one who wears his 
mantle muffled around the lower part of his face. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


45 8 


noted for disliking both Rome and Geneva, and spoke of lights 
he had learned among the fierce sectaries of Lower Germany. 
An evil doctrine it was, if we judge by the fruits. God keep us 
from presumptuously judging of Heaven’s secrets!” 

“Amen!” said young Seyton, “and from meeting any encoun- 
ter this evening.” 

“ It is not thy wont to pray so,” said George Douglas. 

“No! I leave that to you,” replied the youth, “ when you are 
seized with scruples of engaging with your father’s vassals. But 
I would fain have this old man’s blood off these hands of mine 
ere I shed more. I will confess to the Abbot to-night, and I trust 
to have light penance for ridding the earth of such a miscreant. 
All I sorrow for is, that he was not a score of years younger. 
He drew steel first, however ; that is one comfort.” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


HE tenor of our tale carries us back to the Castle of Loch- 



X leven, where we take up the order of events on the same 
remarkable day on which Dryfesdale had been dismissed from 
the castle. It was past noon, the usual hour of dinner, yet no 
preparations seemed made for the Queen’s entertainment. Mary 
herself had retired into her own apartment, where she was closely 
engaged in writing. Her attendants were together in the pres- 
ence chamber, and much disposed to speculate on the delay of 
the dinner ; for it may be recollected that their breakfast had 
been interrupted. “ I believe in my conscience,” said the page, 
“ that, having found the poisoning scheme miscarry, by having 
gone to the wrong merchant for their deadly wares, they are now 
about to try how famine will work upon us.” 

Lady Fleming was somewhat alarmed at this surmise, but 
comforted herself by observing that the chimney of the kitchen 


THE ABBOT. 


459 


had reeked that whole day in a manner which contradicted the 
supposition. Catherine Seyton presently exclaimed, “ They are 
bearing the dishes across the court, marshaled by the Lady Loch- 
leven herself, dressed out in her highest and stiffest ruff, with her 
partlet , 1 and sleeves of Cyprus , 2 and her huge, old-fashioned 
farthingale 3 of crimson velvet.” 

“ I believe on my word,” said the page, approaching the win- 
dow also, “ it was in that very farthingale that she captivated the 
heart of gentle King Jamie, which procured our poor Queen her 
precious bargain of a brother.” 

“That may hardly be, Master Roland,” answered the Lady 
Fleming, who was a great recorder of the changes of fashion, 
“ since the farthingales came first in when the Queen Regent went 
to St. Andrews, after the battle of Pinkie, and were then called 
Vertugardins ” 4 — 

She would have proceeded farther in this important discussion, 
but was interrupted by the entrance of the Lady of Lochleven, 
who preceded the servants bearing the dishes, and formally dis- 
charged the duty of tasting each of them. Lady Fleming re- 
gretted, in courtly phrase, that the Lady of Lochleven should 
have undertaken so troublesome an office. 

“ After the strange incident of this day, madam,” said the 
lady, “ it is necessary for my honor, and that of my son, that I 
partake whatever is offered to my involuntary guest. Please to 
inform the Lady Mary that I attend her commands.” 

“ Her Majesty,” replied Lady Fleming, with due emphasis on 
the word, “ shall be informed that the Lady Lochleven waits.” 

Mary appeared instantly, and addressed her hostess with 
courtesy, which even approached to something more cordial. 
“ This is nobly done, Lady Lochleven,” she said ; “ for though 
we ourselves apprehend no danger under your roo£, our ladies 

1 A garment for the neck and shoulders, worn chiefly by women. 

2 Properly, cypress ; lawn or crape. 

3 A wide, hooped skirt, introduced about 1515. 

4 The French name for farthingale. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


460 

have been much alarmed by this morning’s chance, and our 
meal will be the more cheerful for your presence and assurance. 
Please you to sit down.” 

The Lady Lochleven obeyed the Queen’s commands, and 
Roland performed the office of carver and attendant as usual. 
But, notwithstanding what the Queen had said, the meal was 
silent and unsocial ; and every effort which Mary made to excite 
some conversation, died away under the solemn and chill replies 
of the Lady of Lochleven. At length it became plain that the 
Queen, who had considered these advances as a condescension 
on her part, and who piqued herself justly on her powers of pleas- 
ing, became offended at the repulsive conduct of her hostess. 
After looking with a significant glance at Lady Fleming and Cath- 
erine, she slightly shrugged her shoulders, and remained silent. 
A pause ensued, at the end of which the Lady Douglas spoke: 
“ I perceive, madam, I am a check on the mirth of this fair com- 
pany. I pray you to excuse me. I am a widow, alone here in 
a most perilous charge, deserted by my grandson, betrayed by 
my servant ; I am little worthy of the grace you do me in offer- 
ing me a seat at your table, where I am aware that wit and pas- 
time are usually expected from the guests.” 

“ If the Lady Lochleven is serious,” said the Queen, “ we 
wonder by what simplicity she expects our present meals to be 
seasoned with mirth. If she is a widow, she lives honored and 
uncontrolled at the head of her late husband’s household. But 
I know at least of one widowed woman in the world, before whom 
the words * desertion ’ and ‘ betrayal ’ ought never to be men- 
tioned, since no one has been made so bitterly acquainted with 
their import.” 

“ I meant not, madam, to remind you of your misfortunes by 
the mention of mine,” answered the Lady Lochleven, and there 
was again a deep silence. 

Mary at length addressed Lady Fleming. “ We can commit 
no deadly sins here, via bonne ^ where we are so well warded and 

1 My good friend. 


THE ABBOT 


46 


looked to ; but if we could, this Carthusian silence might be use- 
ful as a kind of penance. If thou hast adjusted my wimple 1 
amiss, my Fleming, or if Catherine hath made a wry stitch in her 
broidery, when she was thinking of something else than her work, 
or if Roland Grseme hath missed a wild duck on the wing, and 
broke a quarrel 2 pane of glass in the turret window, as chanced 
to him a week since, now is the time to think on your sins and 
to repent of them.” 

“ Madam, I speak with all reverence,” said the Lady Loch- 
leven, “ but I am old, and claim the privilege of age. Methinks 
your followers might find fitter subjects for repentance than the 
trifles you mention, and so mention — once more, I crave your 
pardon — as if you jested with sin and repentance both.” 

“ You have been our taster, Lady Lochleven,” said the Queen ; 
“ I perceive you would eke out your duty with that of our father 
confessor. And since you choose that our conversation should 
be serious, may I ask you why the Regent’s promise — since your 
son so styles himself — has not been kept to me in that respect ? 
From time to time this promise has been renewed, and as con- 
stantly broken. Methinks those who pretend themselves to so 
much gravity and sanctity, should not debar from others the re- 
ligious succors which their consciences require.” 

“ Madam, the Earl of Murray was indeed weak enough,” said 
the Lady Lochleven, “to give so far way to your unhappy preju- 
dices, and a religioner of the Pope presented himself on his part 
at our town of Kinross. But the Douglas is lord of his own 
castle, and will not permit his threshold to be darkened — no, 
not for a single moment — by an emissary belonging to the 
Bishop of Rome .” 3 

1 A covering laid in folds about the face and chin, worn by women. 

2 Diamond-shaped ; literally, formed like the head of a quarrel or cross- 
bow bolt. 

3 The Popes were originally merely the bishops of the city of Rome, but 
very early addressed other churches with authority. Leo I. (440-461) was 
the first to assert the privileges of the Pope as not merely the chief bishop, 
but the Vicar of Christ, the visible head of the Church. 


462 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


“ Methinks it were well, then,” said Mary, “ that my Lord 
Regent would send me where there is less scruple and more 
charity.” 

“ In this, madam,” answered the Lady Lochleven, “ you mis- 
take the nature both of charity and of religion. Charity giveth 
to those who are in delirium the medicaments which may avail 
their health, but refuses those enticing cates and liquors which 
please the palate, but augment the disease.” 

“ This your charity, Lady Lochleven, is pure cruelty, under the 
hypocritical disguise of friendly care. I am oppressed amongst 
you as if you meant the destruction both of my body and soul ; 
but Heaven will not endure such iniquity forever, and they who 
are the most active agents in it may speedily expect their reward.” 

At this moment Randal entered the apartment, with a look so 
much perturbed that the Lady Fleming uttered a faint scream, 
the Queen was obviously startled, and the Lady of Lochleven, 
though too bold and proud to evince any marked signs of alarm, 
asked hastily what was the matter. 

“ Dryfesdale has been slain, madam,” was the reply ; “ mur- 
dered as soon as he gained the dry land by young Master Henry 
Seyton.” 

It was now Catherine’s turn to start and grow pale. “ Has 
the murderer of the Douglas’s vassal escaped ? ” was the lady’s 
hasty question. 

“ There was none to challenge him but old Keltie, and the 
carrier Auchtermuchty,” replied Randal ; “ unlikely men to stay 
one of the frackest 1 youths in Scotland of his years, and who was 
sure to have friends and partakers at no great distance.” 

“ Was the deed completed ? ” said the lady. 

“ Done, and done thoroughly,” said Randal ; “ a Seyton sel- 
dom strikes twice. But the body was not despoiled, and your 
honor’s packet goes forward to Edinburgh by Auchtermuchty, 
who leaves Keltie Bridge early to-morrow. Marry, he has drunk 


1 Boldest ; most forward. 


THE ABBOT. 463 

two bottles of aqua vitae to put the fright out of his head, and 
now sleeps them off beside his cart avers.” 

There was a pause when this fatal tale was told. The Queen 
and Lady Douglas looked on each other, as if each thought how 
she could best turn the incident to her own advantage in the con- 
troversy which was continually kept alive betwixt them. Cather- 
ine Seyton kept her kerchief at her eyes and wept. 

“You see, madam, the bloody maxims and practice of the de- 
luded Papists,” said Lady Lochleven. 

“Nay, madam,” replied the Queen, “say rather you see the 
deserved judgment of Heaven upon a calvinistical poisoner.” 

“ Dryfesdale was not of the Church of Geneva, or of Scotland,” 
said the Lady of Lochleven hastily. 

“ He was a heretic, however,” replied Mary ; “ there is but one 
true and unerring guide ; the others lead alike into error.” 

“ Well, madam, I trust it will reconcile you to your retreat, that 
this deed shows the temper of those who might wish you at 
liberty. Bloodthirsty tyrants, and cruel men-quellers 1 are they 
all, from the Clan-Ranald and Clan-Tosach in the north, to the 
Ferniherst and Buccleuch 2 in the south ; the murdering Seytons 
in the east, and ” — 

“ Methinks, madam, you forget that I am a Seyton,” said 
Catherine, withdrawing her kerchief from her face, which was 
how colored with indignation. 

“ If I had forgot it, fair mistress, your forward bearing would 
have reminded me,” said Lady Lochleven. 

“ If my brother has slain the villain that would have poisoned 
his Sovereign, and his sister,” said Catherine, “ I am only so far 
sorry that he should have spared the hangman his proper task. 
For aught farther, had it been the best Douglas in the land, he 
would have been honored in falling by the Seyton’s sword.” 

“ Farewell, gay mistress,” said the Lady of Lochleven, rising 

1 Men-killers ; from the Anglo-Saxon cwellan (“ to kill ”). 

2 Highland clans or tribes. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


464 

to withdraw ; “ it is such maidens as you who make giddy- 
fashioned revelers and deadly brawlers. Boys must needs rise, 
forsooth, in the grace of some sprightly damsel, who thinks to 
dance through life as through a French galliard.” She then 
made her reverence to the Queen, and added, “ Do you also, 
madam, fare you well till curfew time, when I will make, per- 
chance, more bold than welcome in attending upon your supper 
board. — Come with me, Randal, and tell me more of this cruel 
fact.” 

“ Tis an extraordinary chance,” said the Queen, when she 
had departed ; “ and, villain as he was, I would this man had been 
spared time for repentance. We will cause something to be 
done for his soul, if we ever attain our liberty, and the Church 
will permit such grace to a heretic. But, tell me, Catherine, ma 
mignonne , — this brother of thine, who is so f rack, as the fellow 
called him, bears he the same wonderful likeness to thee as for- 
merly ? ” 

“ If your Grace means in temper, you know whether I am so 
J rack as the serving man spoke him.” 

“ Nay, thou art prompt enough in all reasonable conscience,” 
replied the Queen ; “ but thou art my own darling, notwithstand- 
ing. But I meant, is this thy twin brother as like thee in form 
and features as formerly ? I remember thy dear mother alleged 
it as a reason for destining thee to the veil , 1 that, were ye both 
to go at. large, thou wouldst surely get the credit of some of thy 
brother’s mad pranks.” 

“ I believe, madam,” said Catherine, “ there are some unusually 
simple people even yet, who can hardly distinguish betwixt us, 
especially when, for diversion’s sake, my brother hath taken a fe- 
male dress,” and as she spoke, she gave a quick glance at Roland 
Graeme, to whom this conversation conveyed a ray of light, wel- 
come as ever streamed into the dungeon of a captive through the 
door which opened to give him freedom. 

“ He must be a handsome cavalier, this brother of thine, if he 
1 “To the veil,” i.e., to a convent. 


THE ABBOT 465 

be so like you,” replied Mary. “ He was in France, I think, for 
these late years, so that I saw him not at Holyrood.” 

“ His looks, madam, have never been much found fault with,” 
answered Catherine Seyton ; “ but I would he had less of that 
angry and heady spirit which evil times have encouraged amongst 
our young nobles. God knows, I grudge not his life in your 
Grace’s quarrel, and love him for the willingness with which he 
labors for your rescue. But wherefore should he brawl with an 
old ruffianly serving man, and stain at once his name with such 
a broil, and his hands with the blood of an old and ignoble 
wretch ? ” 

“ Nay, be patient, Catherine ; I will not have thee traduce my 
gallant young knight. With Henry for my knight, and Roland 
Graeme for my trusty squire, methinks I am like a princess of 
romance, who may shortly set at defiance the dungeons and the 
weapons of all wicked sorcerers. But my head aches with the 
agitation of the day. Take me ‘La Mer des Histoires,’ 1 and re- 
sume where we left off on Wednesday. Our Lady help thy head, 
girl, or rather may she help thy heart; I asked thee for the ‘Sea 
of Histories,’ and thou hast brought ‘ La Cronique d’Amour.’ ” 2 

Once embarked upon the ‘ Sea of Histories,’ the Queen con- 
tinued her labors with her needle, while Lady Fleming and 
Catherine read to her alternately for two hours. 

As to Roland Graeme, it is probable that he continued in secret 
intent upon the ‘ Chronicle of Love ’ notwithstanding the censure 
which the Queen seemed to pass upon that branch of study. 
He now remembered a thousand circumstances of voice and 
manner, which, had his own prepossession been less, must surely 
have discriminated the brother from the sister; and he felt 
ashamed that, having as it were by heart every particular of 
Catherine’s gestures, words, and manners, he should have thought 
her, notwithstanding her spirits and levity, capable of assuming 

1 A chronicle extending to the death of Louis XI. of France, 1483- Four 
volumes of it were among the books belonging to Queen Mary, delivered to 
her son in 1578. 2 The Chronicle of Love. 

30 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


466 

the bold step, loud tones, and forward assurance, which accorded 
well enough with her brother’s hasty and masculine character. 
He endeavored repeatedly to catch a glance of Catherine’s eye, 
that he might judge how she was disposed to look upon him since 
he had made the discovery, but he was unsuccessful ; for Cather- 
ine, when she was not reading herself, seemed to take so much 
interest in the exploits of the Teutonic knights against the 
heathens of Esthonia and Livonia , 1 that he could not surprise her 
eye even for a second. But when, closing the book, the Queen 
commanded their attendance in the garden, Mary, perhaps of set 
purpose (for Roland’s anxiety could not escape so practiced an 
observer), afforded him a favorable opportunity of accosting his 
mistress. The Queen commanded them to a little distance, while 
she engaged Lady Fleming in a particular and private conver- 
sation, the subject whereof we learn, from another authority, to 
have been the comparative excellence of the high-standing ruff 
and the falling band. Roland must have been duller and more 
sheepish than ever was youthful lover, if he had not endeavored 
to avail himself of this opportunity. 

“ I have been longing this whole evening to ask of you, fair 
Catherine,” said the page, “ how foolish and unapprehensive you 
must have thought me in being capable to mistake betwixt your 
brother and you ? ” 

“ The circumstance does indeed little honor to my rustic man- 
ners,” said Catherine, “since those of a wild young man were 
so readily mistaken for mine. But I shall grow wiser in time ; 
and with that view I am determined not to think of your follies, 
but to correct my own.” 

“ It will be the lighter subject of meditation of the two,” said 
Roland. 

“ I know not that,” said Catherine very gravely ; “ I fear we 
have been both unpardonably foolish.” 

“ I have been mad,” said Roland, “ unpardonably mad. But 
you, lovely Catherine,” — 

1 Districts of Russia lying along the Gulf of Finland. 


THE ABBOT. 


467 

“ I,” said Catherine, in the same tone of unusual gravity, “have 
too long suffered you to use such expressions towards me. I fear 
I can permit it no longer, and I blame myself for the pain it may 
give you.” 

“ And what can have happened so suddenly to change our rela- 
tion to each other, or alter, with such sudden cruelty, your whole 
deportment to me?" 

“ I can hardly tell,” replied Catherine, “ unless it is that the 
events of the day have impressed on my mind the necessity of 
our observing more distance to each other. A chance similar to 
that which betrayed to you the existence of my brother, may 
make known to Henry the terms you have used to me ; and, 
alas! his whole conduct, as well as his deed this day, makes me 
too justly apprehensive of the consequences.” 

“ Fear nothing for that, fair Catherine,” answered the page; 

“ I am well able to protect myself against risks of that nature.” - 

“ That is to say,” replied she, “ that you would fight with my 
twin brother to show your regard for his sister ? I have heard 
the Queen say, in her sad hours, that men are, in love or in hate, 
the most selfish animals of creation; and your carelessness in 
this matter looks very like it. But be not so much abashed ; you 
are no worse than others.” 

“You do me injustice, Catherine,” replied the page; “I 
thought but of being threatened with a sword, and did not 
remember in whose hand your fancy had placed it. If your 
brother stood before me, with his drawn weapon in his hand, 
so like as he is to you in word, person, and favor, he might 
shed my life’s blood ere I could find in my heart to resist him 
to his injury.” 

“Alas!” said she, “it is not my brother alone. But you re- 
member only the singular circumstances in which we have met 
in equality, and I may say in intimacy. You think not that 
whenever I reenter my father’s house, there is a gulf between us 
you may not pass but with peril of your life. Your only known 
relative is of wild and singular habits, of a hostile and broken 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


468 

clan , 1 the rest of your lineage unknown ; forgive me that I speak 
what is the undeniable truth.” 

“ Love, my beautiful Catherine, despises genealogies,” answered 
Roland Graeme. 

“ Love may, but so will not the Lord Seyton,” rejoined the 
damsel. 

“The Queen, thy mistress and mine, she will intercede. Oh! 
drive me not from you at the moment I thought myself most 
happy ! And if I shall aid her deliverance, said not yourself that 
you and she would become my debtors ? ” 

“ All Scotland will become your debtors,” said Catherine ; 
“but for the active effects you might hope from our gratitude, 
you must remember I am wholly subjected to my father ; and the 
poor Queen is, for a long time, more likely to be dependent on 
the pleasure of the nobles of her party, than possessed of power 
to control them.” 

“ Be it so,” replied Roland ; “ my deeds shall control prejudice 
itself. It is a bustling world, and I will have my share. The 
Knight of Avenel, high as he now stands, rose from as obscure 
an origin as mine.” 

“ Ay ! ” said Catherine, “ there spoke the doughty knight of ro- 
mance, that will cut his way to the imprisoned princess through 
fiends and fiery dragons ! ” 

“ But if I can set the princess at large, and procure her the 
freedom of her own choice,” said the page, “where, dearest 
Catherine, will that choice alight ? ” 

“ Release the princess from duresse, and she will tell you,” said 
the damsel; and breaking off the conversation abruptly, she 
joined the Queen so suddenly that Mary exclaimed half aloud : 

“No more tidings of evil import, — no dissension, I trust, in 
my limited household ? ” Then, looking on Catherine’s blushing 
cheek and Roland’s expanded brow and glancing eye, “ No, no,” 

1 A broken clan was one which had no chief able to find security for its 
good behavior, — a clan of outlaws ; and the Graemes of the Debatable Land 
were in that condition. 


THE ABBOT. 


469 

she said, “ I see all is well. Ma petite mignonne , go to my apart- 
ment and fetch me down — let me see — ay, fetch my pomander 
box .” 1 

And having thus disposed of her attendant in the manner best 
qualified to hide her confusion, the Queen added, speaking apart 
to Roland, “ I should at least have two grateful subjects of 
Catherine and you ; for what sovereign but Mary would aid true 
love so willingly? Ay, you lay your hand on your sword, your 
petite flamberge a rien 2 there. Well, short time will show if all 
the good be true that is protested to us. I hear them toll curfew 
from Kinross. To our chamber. This old dame has promised 
to be with us again at our evening meal. Were it not for the 
hope of speedy deliverance, her presence would drive me dis- 
tracted. But I will be patient.” 

“ I profess,” said Catherine, who just then entered, “ I would 
I could be Henry, with all a man’s privileges, for one moment. 
I long to throw my plate at that confect of pride, and formality, 
and ill nature.” 

The Lady Fleming reprimanded her young companion for this 
explosion of impatience ; the Queen laughed, and they went to 
the presence chamber, where almost immediately entered supper, 
and the lady of the castle. The Queen, strong in her prudent 
resolutions, endured her presence with great fortitude and equa- 
nimity, until her patience was disturbed by a new form, which 
had hitherto made no part of the ceremonial of the castle. When 
the other attendant had retired, Randal entered, bearing the keys 
of the castle fastened upon a chain, and, announcing that the 
watch was set, and the gates locked, delivered the keys with all 
reverence to the Lady of Lochleven. 

The Queen and her ladies exchanged with each other a look 
of disappointment, anger, and vexation ; and Mary said aloud, 
“ We cannot regret the smallness of our court, when we see our 

1 “ Pomander box,” i.e., a box containing a ball of a mixture of per- 

fumes, called a pomander. 2 Little, good-for-nothing blade. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


470 

hostess discharge in person so many of its offices. In addition 
to her charges of principal steward of our household, and grand 
almoner, she has to-night done duty as captain of our guard.” 

“ And will continue to do so in future, madam,” answered the 
Lady Lochleven with much gravity ; “ the history of Scotland 
may teach me how ill the duty is performed which is done by an 
accredited deputy. We have heard, madam, of favorites of later 
date, and as little merit, as Oliver Sinclair.” 1 

" O madam,” replied the Queen, “ my father had his female, 
as well as his male, favorites. There were the Ladies Sandilands 
and Olifaunt, and some others, methinks ; but their names can- 
not survive in the memory of so grave a person as you.” 

The Lady Lochleven looked as if she could have slain the 
Queen on the spot, but commanded her temper, and retired 
from the apartment, bearing in her hand the ponderous bunch 
of keys. 

“Now God be praised for that woman’s youthful frailty!” 
said the Queen. “Had she not that weak point in her character, 
I might waste my words on her in vain. But that stain is the 
very reverse of what is said of the witch’s mark ; 2 I can make 
her feel there, though she is otherwise insensible all over. But 
how say you, girls ? Here is a new difficulty. How are these 
keys to be come by? There is no deceiving or bribing this 
dragon, I trow.” 

“ May I crave to know,” said Roland, “ whether, if your Grace 
were beyond the walls of the castle, you could find means of 
conveyance to the firm land, and protection when you are 
there? ” 

“Trust us for that, Roland,” said the Queen; “for to that 
point our scheme is indifferent well laid.” 

“ Then if your Grace will permit^ me to speak my mind, I 
think I could be of some use in this matter.” 

1 A favorite, said to be an unworthy one, of James V. 

2 A witch was said to have one invulnerable spot on her body, and those 
accused were usually tortured with pins in order to find this proof. 


THE ABBOT. 


47 1 

“ As my good youth ? Speak on,” said the Queen, “ and 
fearlessly.” 

“ My patron, the Knight of Avenel, used to compel the youth 
educated in his household to learn the use of ax and hammer, 
and working in wood and iron. He used to speak of old northern 
champions who forged their own weapons, and of the Highland 
Captain, Donald nan Ord, or Donald of the Hammer, whom he 
himself knew, and who used to work at the anvil with a sledge 
hammer in each hand. Some said he praised this art because 
he was himself of churl’s blood. However, I gained some prac- 
tice in it, as the Lady Catherine Seyton partly knows ; for since 
we were here I wrought her a silver brooch.” 

“ Ay,” replied Catherine, “ but you should tell her Grace that 
your workmanship was so indifferent that it broke to pieces next 
day, and I flung it away.” 

“ Believe her not, Roland,” said the Queen ; “ she wept when 
it was broken, and put the fragments into her bosom. But for 
your scheme, — could your skill avail to forge a second set of 
keys ? ” 

“No, madam, because I know not the wards . 1 But I am 
convinced I could make a set so like that hateful bunch which 
the lady bore off even now, that could they be exchanged against 
them by any means, she would never dream she was possessed 
of the wrong.” 

“ And the good dame, thank Heaven, is somewhat blind,” said 
the Queen. “ But then for a forge, my boy, and the means of 
laboring unobserved ? ” 

“ The armorer’s forge, at which I used sometimes to work with 
him, is the round vault at the bottom of the .turret. He was 
dismissed with the warder for being supposed too much attached 
to George Douglas. The people are accustomed to see me work 
there, and I warrant I shall find some excuse that will pass current 
with them for putting bellows and anvil to work.” 

“The scheme has a promising face,” said the Queen; “about 
l Notches in a key, corresponding to ridges in the lock that it fits. 


47 2 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


it, my lad, with all speed, and beware the nature of your work is 
not discovered.” 

“ Nay, I will take the liberty to draw the bolt against chance 
visitors, so that I will have time to put away what I am working 
upon, before I undo the door.” 

“ Will not that of itself attract suspicion, in a place where it is 
so current already ? ” said Catherine. w 

“Not a whit,” replied Roland; “Gregory the armorer, and 
every good hammerman, locks himself in when he is about some 
masterpiece of craft. Besides, something must be risked.” 

“ Part we then to-night,” said the Queen, “ and God bless 
you, my children! If Mary’s head ever rises above water, you 
shall all rise along with her.” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 



'HE enterprise of Roland Graeme appeared to prosper. A 


-L trinket or two, of which the work did not surpass the sub- 
stance (for the materials were silver supplied by the Queen), were 
judiciously presented to those most likely to be inquisitive into 
the labors of the forge and anvil, which they thus were induced 
to reckon profitable to others, and harmless in itself. Openly, 
the page was seen working about such trifles. In private, he 
forged a number of keys resembling so nearly in weight and in 
form those which were presented every evening to the Lady 
Lochleven, that, on a slight inspection, it would have been diffi- 
cult to perceive the difference. He brought them to the dark, 
rusty color by the use of salt and water ; and, in the triumph of 
his art, presented them at length to Queen Mary in her presence 
chamber, about an hour before the tolling of the curfew. She 
looked at them with pleasure, but at the same time with doubt. 
“ I allow,” she said, “ that the Lady Lochleven’s eyes, which are 


THE ABBOT 


473 


not of the clearest, may be well deceived, could we pass those 
keys on her in place of the real implements of her tyranny. But 
how is this to be done, and which of my little court dare attempt 
this tour de jongleur 1 with any chance of success ? Could we but 
engage her in some earnest matter of argument ; but those which 
I hold with her always have been of a kind which make her grasp 
her keys the faster, as if she said to herself, ‘ Here I hold what 
sets me above your taunts and reproaches.’ And even for her 
liberty, Mary Stuart could not stoop to speak the proud heretic 
fair. What shall we do? Shall Lady Fleming try her eloquence 
in describing the last new headtire from Paris? Alas! the good 
dame has not changed the fashion of her headgear since Pinkie- 
field, for aught that I know. Shall my mignonne Catherine sing 
to her one of those touching airs which draw the very souls 
out of me and Roland Graeme? Alas! Dame Margaret Douglas 
would rather hear a Huguenot psalm of Clement Marrot , 1 2 sung 
to the tune of Reveillez vous , belle endormie . 3 Cousins and liege 
counselors, what is to be done, for our wits are really astray in this 
matter ? Must our man-at-arms and the champion of our body, 
Roland Graeme, manfully assault the old lady, and take the keys 
from her par voie du fait ? ” 4 

“ Nay! with your Grace’s permission,” said Roland, “ I do not 
doubt being able to manage the matter with more discretion ; for 
though, in your Grace’s service, I do not fear ” — 

“ A host of old women,” interrupted Catherine, “ each armed 
with rock and spindle, yet he has no fancy for pikes and partisans, 
which might rise at the cry of Help! a Douglas , a Douglas! ” 

“ They that do not fear fair ladies’ tongues,” continued the 
page, “need dread nothing else. — But, gracious Liege, I am well- 
nigh satisfied that I could pass the exchange of these keys on 

1 J u ggl er ’ s trick. 

2 Clement Marrot or Marot, a French poet of the court of Francis I., 
although not a Huguenot, made metrical translations of the Psalms, which 
were sung at court to favorite secular airs. 

3 Waken, fair sleeper. 4 By violence. 


474 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


the Lady Lochleven ; but I dread the sentinel who is now planted 
nightly in the garden, which, by necessity, we must traverse.” 

“ Our last advices from our friends on the shore have promised 
us assistance in that matter,” replied the Queen. 

“ And is your Grace well assured of the fidelity and watchful- 
ness of those without ? ” 

“ For their fidelity, I will answer with my life, and for their 
vigilance, I will answer with my life. I will give thee instant 
proof, my faithful Roland, that they are ingenuous and trusty as 
thyself. Come hither. — Nay, Catherine, attend us; we carry 
not so deft a page into our private chamber alone. Make fast 
the door of the parlor, Fleming, and warn us if you hear the least 
step — or stay, go thou to the door, Catherine ” (in a whisper, 
“Thy ears and thy wits are both sharper”). — “ Good Fleming, 
attend us thyself ” (and again she whispered, “ Her reverend pres- 
ence will be as safe a watch on Roland as thine can, so be not 
jealous, mignonne ”). 

Thus speaking, they were lighted by the Lady Fleming into 
the Queen’s bedroom, a small apartment enlightened by a pro- 
jecting window. 

“ Look from that window, Roland,” she said ; “ see you 
amongst the several lights which begin to kindle, and to glimmer 
palely through the gray of the evening from the village of Kinross, 
— seest thou, I say, one solitary spark apart from the others, and 
nearer, it seems, to the verge of the water ? It is no brighter at 
this distance than the torch of the poor glowworm, and yet, my 
good youth, that light is more dear to Mary Stuart than every 
star that twinkles in the blue vault of heaven. By that signal I 
know that more than one true heart is plotting my deliverance ; 
and without that consciousness, and the hope of freedom it gives 
me, I had long since stooped to my fate, and died of a broken 
heart. Plan after plan has been formed and abandoned, but 
still the light glimmers, and while it glimmers, my hope lives. 
Oh*! how many evenings have I sat musing in despair over our 
ruined schemes, and scarce hoping that I should again see that 


THE ABBOT. 


475 

blessed signal : when it has suddenly kindled, and, like the lights 
of St. Elmo 1 in a tempest, brought hope and consolation, where 
there was only dejection and despair!” 

“ If I mistake not,” answered Roland, " the candle shines from 
the house of Blinkhoolie, the mail gardener.” 2 

“ Thou hast a good eye,” said the Queen ; “ it is there where 
my trusty lieges — God and the saints pour blessings on them ! — 
hold consultation for my deliverance. The voice of a wretched 
captive would die on these blue waters long ere it could mingle 
in their councils; and yet I can hold communication. I will 
confide the whole to thee. I am about to ask those faithful 
friends if the moment for the great attempt is nigh. — Place the 
lamp in the window, Fleming.” 

She obeyed, and immediately withdrew it. No sooner had 
she done so, than the light in the cottage of the gardener dis- 
appeared. 

“ Now count,” said Queen Mary, “ for my heart beats so thick 
that I cannot count myself.” 

The Lady Fleming began deliberately to count one, two, three 
— and when she had arrived at ten, the light on the shore showed 
its pale twinkle. 

“ Now, Our Lady be praised!” said the Queen; “it was but 
two nights since that the absence of the light remained while I 
could tell thirty. The hour of deliverance approaches ! May 
God bless those who labor in it with such truth to me ! — alas ! 
with such hazard to themselves. And bless you, too, my children ! 
Come, we must to the audience chamber again. Our absence 
might excite suspicion, should they serve supper.” 

They returned to the presence chamber, and the evening con- 
cluded as usual. 

The next morning, at dinner time, an unusual incident occurred. 

1 “ Lights,” etc., i.e., luminous discharges of natural electricity from the 
masts and spars of a ship ; named from St. Elmo, an Italian bishop who died 
about 304, and whom sailors in the Mediterranean invoke during a storm. 

2 A gardener who pays rent for his land. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


476 

While Lady Douglas of Lochleven performed her daily duty of 
assistant and taster at the Queen’s table, she was told a man- 
at-arms had arrived, recommended by her son, but without any 
letter or other token than what he brought by word of mouth. 

“ Hath he given you that token? ” demanded the lady. 

“He reserved it, as I think, for your ladyship’s ear,” replied 
Randal. 

“ He doth well,” said the lady; “tell him to wait in the hall. 
— But no, with your permission, madam ” (to the Queen), “ let 
him attend me here.” 

“ Since you are pleased to receive your domestics in my pres- 
ence,” said the Queen, “ I cannot choose ” — 

“ My infirmities must plead my excuse, madam,” replied the 
lady ; “ the life I must lead here ill suits with the years which have 
passed over my head, and compels me to wave 1 ceremonial.” 

“ Oh, my good lady,” replied the Queen, “ I would there were 
naught in this your castle more strongly compulsive than the cob- 
web chains of ceremony ; but bolts and bars are harder matters 
to contend with.” 

As she spoke, the person announced by Randal entered the 
room, and Roland Graeme at once recognized in him the Abbot 
Ambrosius. 

“ What is your name, good fellow ? ” said the lady. 

“ Edward Glendinning,” answered the Abbot, with a suitable 
reverence. 

“ Art thou of the blood of the Knight of Avenel ? ” said the 
Lady of Lochleven. 

“ Ay, madam, and that nearly,” replied the pretended soldier. 

“ It is likely enough,” said the lady, “ for the Knight is the 
son of his own good works, and has risen from obscure lineage 
to his present high rank in the Estate. But he is of sure truth 
and approved worth, and his kinsman is welcome to us. You 
hold, unquestionably, the true faith? ” 

“ Do not doubt of it, madam,” said the disguised churchman. 

1 Waive ; lay aside. 


THE ABBOT. 


477 

“ Hast thou a token to me from Sir William Douglas ? ” said 
the lady. 

“ I have, madam,” replied he ; “ but it must be said in private.” 

“ Thou art right,” said the lady, moving towards the recess 
of a window ; “ say in what does it consist? ” 

“ In the words of an old bard,” replied the Abbot. 

“ Repeat them,” answered the lady ; and he uttered, in a low 
tone, the lines from an old poem called “ The Howlet,” — 

“ O Douglas ! Douglas ! 

Tender and true.” 

“ Trusty Sir John Holland,” 1 said the Lady Douglas, apostro- 
phizing the poet, “ a kinder heart never inspired a rhyme, and 
the Douglas’s honor was ever on thy heartstring! — We receive 
you among our followers, Glendinning. — But, Randal, see that 
he keep the outer ward only, till we shall hear more touching him 
from our son. — Thou fearest not the night air, Glendinning ? ” 

“ In the cause of the lady before whom I stand, I fear noth- 
ing, madam,” answered the disguised Abbot. 

“ Our garrison, then, is stronger by one trustworthy soldier,” 
said the matron. “ Go to the buttery, and let them make much 
of thee.” 

When the Lady Lochleven had retired, the Queen said to 
Roland Graeme, who was now almost constantly in her company, 
“I spy comfort in that stranger’s countenance ; I know not why 
it should be so, but I am well persuaded he is a friend.” 

“ Your Grace’s penetration does not deceive you,” answered 
the page ; and he informed her that the Abbot of St. Mary’s him- 
self played the part of the newly arrived soldier. 

The Queen crossed herself and looked upwards. “ Unworthy 
sinner that I am,” she said, “ that for my sake a man so holy, and 
so high in spiritual office, should wear the garb of a base sworder, 
and run the risk of dying the death of a traitor.” 

1 An obscure poet of the fifteenth century; more often called Richard 
Holland. 


478 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


“ Heaven will protect its own servant, madam,” said Catherine 
Seyton; “his aid would bring a blessing on our undertaking, 
were it not already blessed for its own sake.” 

“ What I admired in my spiritual father,” said Roland, “ was 
the steady front with which he looked on me without giving the 
least sign of former acquaintance. I did not think the like was 
possible since I have ceased to believe that Henry was the same 
person with Catherine.” 

“ But marked you not how astuciously 1 the good father,” said 
the Queen, “ eluded the questions of the woman Lochleven, tell- 
ing her the very truth which yet she received not as such? ” 

Roland thought in his heart that when the truth was spoken 
for the purpose of deceiving, it was little better than a lie in 
disguise. But it was no time to agitate such questions of con- 
science. 

“ And now for the signal from the shore,” exclaimed Cather- 
ine ; “ my bosom tells me we shall see this night two lights instead 
of one gleam from that Garden of Eden. And then, Roland, do 
you play your part manfully, and we will dance on the greensward 
like midnight fairies!” 

Catherine’s conjecture misgave not, nor deceived her. In the 
evening two beams twinkled from the cottage, instead of one ; 
and the page heard, with beating heart, that the new retainer was 
ordered to stand sentinel on the outside of the castle. When he 
intimated this news to the Queen, she held her hand out to him ; 
he knelt, and when he raised it to his lips in all dutiful homage, 
he found it was damp and cold as marble. “ For God’s sake, 
madam, droop not now! sink not now!” 

“ Call upon Our Lady, my Liege,” said the Lady Fleming, “ call 
upon your tutelar saint.” 

“ Call the spirits of the hundred kings you are descended 
from,” exclaimed the page. “ In this hour of need, the resolution 
of a monarch were worth the aid of a hundred saints.” 

“ Oh! Roland Graeme,” said Mary in a tone of deep despond- 
1 Astutely; craftily. 


THE ABBOT. 


479 

ency, “be true to me! Many have been false to me. Alas! 
I have not always been true to myself. My mind misgives me 
that I shall die in bondage, and that this bold attempt will cost 
all our lives. It was foretold me by a soothsayer in France, that 
I should die in prison, and by a violent death, and here comes 
the hour. Oh, would to God it found me prepared!” 

“ Madam,” said Catherine Seyton, “ remember you are a queen. 
Better we all died in bravely attempting to gain our freedom, 
than remained here to be poisoned, as men rid them of the noxious 
vermin that haunt old houses.” 

“You are right, Catherine,” said the Queen; “and Mary will 
bear her like herself. But alas! your young and buoyant spirit 
can ill spell the causes which have broken mine. — Forgive me, 
my children, and farewell for a while. I will prepare both mind 
and body for this awful venture.” 

They separated till again called together by the tolling of the 
curfew. The Queen appeared grave, but firm and resolved; 
the Lady Fleming, with the art of an experienced courtier, knew 
perfectly how to disguise her inward tremors ; Catherine’s eye 
was fired, as if with the boldness of the project, and the half 
smile which dwelt upon her beautiful mouth seemed to contemn 
all the risk and all the consequences of discovery ; Roland, who 
felt how much success depended on his own address and bold- 
ness, summoned together his whole presence of mind, and if he 
found his spirits flag for a moment, cast his eye upon Catherine, 
whom he thought he had never seen look so beautiful. “ I may 
be foiled,” he thought, “ but with this reward in prospect, they 
must bring the Devil to aid them ere they cross me.” Thus re- 
solved, he stood like a greyhound in the slips, with hand, heart, 
and eye intent upon making and seizing opportunity for the 
execution of their project. 

The keys had, with the wonted ceremonial, been presented to 
the Lady Lochleven. She stood with her back to the casement, 
which, like that of the Queen’s apartment, commanded a view 
of Kinross, with the church, which stands at some distance from 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


480 

the town, and nearer to the lake, then connected with the town by 
straggling cottages. With her back to this casement, then, and 
her face to the table, on which the keys lay for an instant while 
she tasted the various dishes which were placed there, stood the 
Lady of Lochleven, more provokingly intent than usual — so at 
least it seemed to her prisoners — upon the huge and heavy bunch 
of iron, — the implements of their restraint. Just when, having 
finished her ceremony as taster of the Queen’s table, she was 
about to take up the keys, the page who stood beside her, and 
had handed her the dishes in succession, looked sideways to the 
churchyard, and exclaimed he saw corpse-candles 1 in the church- 
yard. The Lady of Lochleven was not without a touch, though 
a slight one, of the superstitions of the time ; the fate of her sons 
made her alive to omens, and a corpse-light, as it was called, in 
the family burial place, boded death. She turned her head to- 
wards the casement, saw a distant glimmering, forgot her charge 
for one second, and in that second were lost the whole fruits of 
her former vigilance. The page held the forged keys under his 
cloak, and, with great dexterity, exchanged them for the real 
ones. His utmost address could not prevent a slight clash as he 
took up the latter bunch. “ Who touches the keys ? ” said the 
lady ; and while the page answered that the sleeve of his cloak 
had stirred them, she looked round, possessed herself of the bunch 
which now occupied the place of the genuine keys, and again 
turned to gaze on the supposed corpse-candles. 

“ I hold these gleams,” she said, after a moment’s consideration, 
“ to come, not from the churchyard, but from the hut of the old 
gardener Blinkhoolie. I wonder what thrift that churl drives , 2 
that of late he hath ever had light in his house till the night grew 
deep. I thought him an industrious, peaceful man. If he turns 
resetter 3 of idle companions and night walkers, the place must be 
rid of him.” 

1 The will-o’-the-wisp, which, when seen in a churchyard, was supposed 

to portend death. 2 “ What thrift,” etc., i.e., what economy he keeps. 

3 Har borer ; receiver. 


THE ABBOT. 481 

“ He may work his baskets perchance,’’ said the page, desirous 
to stop the train of her suspicion. 

“ Or nets, may he not? ” answered the lady. 

“ Ay, madam,” said Roland, “ for trout and salmon.” 

“ Or for fools and knaves,” replied the lady ; “ but this shall 
be looked after to-morrow. — I wish your Grace and your com- 
pany a good evening. — Randal, attend us.” And Randal, who 
waited in the antechamber after having surrendered his bunch of 
keys, gave his escort to his mistress as usual, while, leaving the 
Queen’s apartments, she retired to her own. 

“ To-morrow!” said the page, rubbing his hands with glee as 
he repeated the lady’s last words, “ fools look to to-morrow, and 
wise folk use to-night. — May I pray you, my gracious Liege, to 
retire for one half hour, until all the castle is composed to rest? 
I must go and rub with oil these blessed implements of our free- 
dom. Courage and constancy, and all will go well, provided our 
friends on the shore fail not to send the boat you spoke of.” 

“Fear them not,” said Catherine, “they are true as steel; if 
our dear mistress do but maintain her noble and royal cour- 
age .” 1 

“ Doubt not me, Catherine,” replied the Queen ; “ a while 
since I was overborne, but I have recalled the spirit of my earlier 
and more sprightly days, when I used to accompany my armed 
nobles, and wish to be myself a man, to know what life it was to 
be in the fields with sword and buckler, jack and knapscap.” 2 

“ Oh, the lark lives not a gayer life, nor sings a lighter and 
gayer song than the merry soldier,” answered Catherine. “Your 
Grace shall be in the midst of them soon, and the look of such a 
liege Sovereign will make each of your host worth three in the 
hour of need; — but I must to my task.” 

“We have but brief time,” said Queen Mary; “one of the 
two lights in the cottage is extinguished. That shows the boat is 
put off.” 

1 Mary’s remarkable courage and power of endurance are spoken of in 
more than one contemporary document. 2 Helmet. 

3 1 


482 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ They will row very slow,” said the page, “ or kent, 1 where 
depth permits, to avoid noise. To our several tasks. I will 
communicate with the good father.” 

At the dead hour of midnight, when all was silent in the castle, 
the page put the key into the lock of the wicket which opened 
into the garden, and which was at the bottom of a staircase 
which descended from the Queen’s apartment. “Now, turn 
smooth and softly, thou good bolt,” said he, “ if ever oil softened 
rust!” and his precautions had been so effectual that the bolt 
revolved with little or no sound of resistance. He ventured not 
to cross the threshold, but, exchanging a word with the disguised 
Abbot, asked if the boat were ready. 

“ This half hour,” said the sentinel. “ She lies beneath the 
wall, too close under the islet to be seen by the warder, but I 
fear she will hardly escape his notice in putting off again.” 

“ The darkness,” said the page, “ and our profound silence, 
may take her off unobserved, as she came in. Hildebrand has 
the watch on the tower, — a heavy-headed knave, who holds a 
can of ale to be the best headpiece upon a night watch. He 
sleeps, for a wager.” ^ 

“ Then bring the Queen,” said the Abbot, “ and I will call 
Henry Seyton to assist them to the boat.” 

On tiptoe, with noiseless step and suppressed breath, trembling 
at every rustle of their own apparel, one after another the fair 
prisoners glided down the winding stair, under the guidance of 
Roland Graeme, and were received at the wicket gate by Henry 
Seyton and the churchman. The former seemed instantly to 
take upon himself the whole direction* of the enterprise. “My 
Lord Abbot,” he said, “ give my sister your arm. I will conduct 
the Queen, and that youth will have the honor to guide Lady 
Fleming.” 

This was no time to dispute the arrangement, although it was 
not that which Roland Graeme would have chosen. Catherine 


1 To propel by pushing with a kent, or long pole, against the bottom. 


THE ABBOT. 


4 S 3 

Seyton, who well knew the garden path, tripped on before like a 
sylph, rather leading the Abbot than receiving assistance ; the 
Queen, her native spirit prevailing over female fear and a thousand 
painful reflections, moved steadily forward, by the assistance of 
Henry Seyton ; while the Lady Fleming encumbered with her 
fears and her helplessness Roland Graeme, who followed in the 
rear, and who bore under the other arm a packet of necessaries 
belonging to the Queen. The door of the garden, which com- 
municated with the shore of the islet, yielded to one of the keys 
of which Roland had possessed himself, although not until he 
had tried several, — a moment of anxious terror and expectation. 
The ladies were then partly led, partly carried to the side of the 
lake, where a boat with six rowers attended them, the men 
couched along the bottom to secure them from observation. 
Henry Seyton placed the Queen in the stern; the Abbot offered 
to assist Catherine, but she was seated by the Queen’s side be- 
fore he could utter his proffer of help ; and Roland Graeme was 
just lifting Lady Fleming over the boat-side, when a thought sud- 
denly occurred to him, and exclaiming, “Forgotten, forgotten! 
wait for me but one hal^minute,” he replaced on the shore the 
helpless lady of the bedchamber, threw the Queen’s packet into 
the boat, and sped back through the garden with the noiseless 
speed of a bird on the wing. 

“ By Heaven, he is false at last! ” said Seyton. “ I ever feared 
it!” 

“ He is as true,” said Catherine, “ as Heaven itself, and that 
I will maintain.” 

“Be silent, minion,” said her brother, “for shame, if not for 
fear. — Fellows, put off, and row for your lives! ” 

“ Help me, help me on board! ” said the deserted Lady Flem- 
ing, and that louder than prudence warranted. 

“ Put off — put off! ” cried Henry Seyton ; “ leave all behind, 
so the Queen is safe.” 

“ Will you permit this, madam ? ” said Catherine imploringly. 
“ You leave your deliverer to death.” 


484 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ I will not,” said the Queen. — “ Seyton, I command you to 
stay at every risk.” 

“ Pardon me, madam, if I disobey,” said the intractable young 
man ; and with one hand lifting in Lady Fleming, he began him- 
self to push off the boat. 

She was two fathoms’ length from the shore, and the rowers 
were getting her head round, when Roland Graeme, arriving, 
bounded from the beach and attained the boat, overturning Sey- 
ton, on whom he lighted. The youth swore a deep but sup- 
pressed oath, and stopping Graeme as he stepped towards the 
stern, said, “ Your place is not with highborn dames. Keep at 
the head and trim the vessel. — Now, give way — give way. Row, 
for God and the Queen!” 

The rowers obeyed, and began to pull vigorously. 

“Why did ye not muffle the oars? ” said Roland Graeme; 
“ the dash must awaken the sentinel. — Row, lads, and get out of 
reach of shot ; for had not old Hildebrand, the warder, supped 
upon poppy-porridge , 1 this whispering must have waked him.” 

“ It was all thine own delay,” said Seyton ; “ thou shalt reckon 
with me hereafter for that and other meters.” 

But Roland’s apprehension was verified too instantly to permit 
him to reply. The sentinel, whose slumbering had withstood the 
whispering, was alarmed by the dash of the oars. His challenge 
was instantly heard. “ A boat — a boat! — bring to, or I shoot! ” 
And as they continued to ply their oars, he called aloud, “ Treason ! 
treason ! ” rung the bell of the castle, and discharged his harque- 
buss at the boat. The ladies crowded on each other like startled 
wild fowl, at the flash and report of the piece, while the men 
urged the rowers to the utmost speed. They heard more than 
one ball whiz along the surface of the lake, at no great distance 
from their little bark; and from the lights, which glanced like 
meteors from window to window, it was evident the whole castle 
was alarmed, and their escape discovered. 


1 Food or drink drugged with opium, which is made from poppy juice. 


THE ABBOT. 


485 

“ Pull! ” again exclaimed Seyton ; “ stretch to your oars, or I 
will spur you to the task with my dagger. They will launch a 
boat immediately.” 

“That is cared for,” said Roland; “ I locked gate and wicket 
on them when I went back, and no boat will stir from the island 
this night, if doors of good oak and bolts of iron can keep men 
within stone walls. And now I resign my office of porter of 
Lochleven, and give the keys to the kelpie’s 1 keeping.” 

As the heavy keys plunged in the lake, the Abbot, who till 
then had been repeating his prayers, exclaimed, “ Now, bless 
thee, my son ! for thy ready prudence puts shame on us all.” 2 

“ I knew,” said Mary, drawing her breath more freely, as they 
were now out of reach of the musketry, “ I knew my squire’s 
truth, promptitude, and sagacity. I must have him dear friends 
with my no less true knights, Douglas and Seyton — but where, 
then, is Douglas ? ” 

“ Here, madam,” answered the deep and melancholy voice of 
the boatman who sat next her, and who acted as steersman. 

“Alas! was it you who stretched your body before me,” said 
the Queen, “ when the balls were raining around us ? ” 

“ Believe you,” said he in a low tone, “ that Douglas would 
have resigned to any one the chance of protecting his Queen’s 
life with his own? ” 

The dialogue was here interrupted by a shot or two from one 
of those small pieces of artillery called falconets, then used in 
defending castles. The shot was too vague to have any effect, 

1 A water fairy. 

2 It is well known that Queen Mary’s escape from Lochleven was effected 
by George Douglas, the youngest brother of Sir William Douglas, but the 
details have been confused because the two agents concerned in it bore the 
same name. Her first attempt at escape, in the dress of her laundress, is 
said to have been discovered through the whiteness of her hands. In the 
successful attempt, the part here ascribed to Roland Graeme was played not 
by George, but by his young kinsman, William Douglas, usually called 
“The Little Douglas,” who stole the keys, and, after the Queen had em- 
barked, threw them into the lake. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


486 

but the broader flash, the deeper sound, the louder return which 
was made by the midnight echoes of Bennarty, 1 terrified and im- 
posed silence on the liberated prisoners. The boat was alongside 
of a rude quay or landing place, running out from a garden of 
considerable extent, ere any of them again attempted to speak. 
They landed, and while the Abbot returned thanks aloud to 
Heaven, which had thus far favored their enterprise, Douglas 
enjoyed the best reward of his desperate undertaking, in con- 
ducting the Queen to the house of the gardener. Yet, not un- 
mindful of Roland Graeme even in that moment of terror and 
exhaustion, Mary expressly commanded Seyton to give his assist- 
ance to Fleming, while Catherine voluntarily, and without bid- 
ding, took the arm of the page. Seyton presently resigned Lady 
Fleming to the care of the Abbot, alleging he must look after 
their horses; and his attendants, disencumbering themselves of 
their boat cloaks, hastened to assist him. 

While Mary spent in the gardener’s cottage the few minutes 
which were necessary to prepare the steeds for their departure, 
she perceived, in a corner, the old man to whom the garden be- 
longed, and called him to approach. He came as it were with 
reluctance. 

“ How, brother,” said the Abbot, “ so slow to welcome thy 
royal Queen and mistress to liberty and to her kingdom!” 

The old man, thus admonished, came forward, and, in good 
terms of speech, gave her Grace joy of her deliverance. The 
Queen returned him thanks in the most gracious manner, and 
added, “ It will remain to us to offer some immediate reward for 
your fidelity, for we wot well your house has been long the ref- 
uge in which our trusty servants have met to concert measures 
for our freedom.” So saying, she offered gold, and added, “ We 
will consider your services more fully hereafter.” 

“ Kneel, brother,” said the Abbot, “ kneel instantly, and thank 
her Grace’s kindness.”. 

“ Good brother, that wert once a few steps under me, and art 

1 A hill beside Lochleven. “ Ben” is the Scottish equivalent of “ mount.” 


THE ABBOT. 


487 

still many years younger,” replied the gardener pettishly, “ let 
me do mine acknowledgments in my own way. Queens have 
knelt to me ere now, and in truth my knees are too old and stiff 
to bend even to this lovely-faced lady. — May it please your Grace, 
if your Grace’s servants have occupied my house, so that I could 
not call it mine own, if they have trodden down my flowers in 
the zeal of their midnight comings and goings, and destroyed 
the hope of the fruit season by bringing their war horses into 
my garden, I do but crave of your Grace in requital that you 
will choose your residence as far from me as possible. I am an 
old man who would willingly creep to my grave as easily as I 
can, in peace, good will, and quiet labor.” 

“ I promise you fairly, good man,” said the Queen, “ I will not 
make yonder castle my residence again, if I can help it. But 
let me press on you this money. It will make some amends for 
the havoc we have made in your little garden and orchard.” 

“ I thank your Grace, but it will make me not the least amends,” 
said the old man. “ The ruined labors of a whole year are not 
so easily replaced to him who has perchance but that one year 
to live ; and besides, they tell me I must leave this place and 
become a wanderer in mine old age ; I that have nothing on 
earth saving these fruit trees, and a few old parchments and 
family secrets not worth knowing. As for gold, if I had loved 
it, I might have remained Lord Abbot of St. Mary’s ; and yet, I 
wot not, for if Abbot Boniface 1 be but the poor peasant Blink- 
hoolie, his successor, the Abbot Ambrosius, is still transmuted for 
the worse into the guise of a sword-and-buckler man.” 

“ Is this indeed the Abbot Boniface of whom I have heard ? ” 
said the Queen. “ It is indeed I wfio should have bent the knee 
for your blessing, good father.” 

“Bend no knee to me, Lady! The blessing of an old man, 
who is no longer an abbot, go with you over dale and down. I 
hear the trampling of your horses.” 

“ Farewell, father,” said the Queen. “ When we are once more 

1 See Note 2, p. 177. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


488 

seated at Holyrood, we will neither forget thee nor thine injured 
garden.” 

“Forget us both,” said the Ex-abbot Boniface, “and may God 
be with you! ” 

As they hurried out of the house, they heard the old man talk- 
ing and muttering to himself, as he hastily drew bolt and bar be- 
hind them. 

“ The revenge of the Douglases will reach the poor old man,” 
said the Queen. “ God help me, I ruin every one whom I ap- 
proach! ” 

“ His safety is cared for,” said Seyton ; “ he must not remain 
here, but will be privately conducted to a place of greater secu- 
rity. But I would your Grace were in the saddle. — To horse! 
to horse! ” 

The party of Seyton and of Douglas were increased to about 
ten by those attendants who had remained with the horses. The 
Queen and her ladies, with all the rest who came from the boat, 
were instantly mounted ; and holding aloof from the village, 
which was already alarmed by the firing from the castle, with 
Douglas acting as their guide, they soon reached the open ground, 
and began to ride as fast as was consistent with keeping together 
in good order. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

T HE influence of the free air, the rushing of the horses over 
high and low, the ringing of the bridles, the excitation 
at once arising from a sense of freedom and of rapid motion, 
gradually dispelled the confused and dejected sort of stupefaction 
by which Queen Mary was at first overwhelmed. She could not 
at last conceal the change of her feelings to the person who 
rode at her rein, and who she doubted not was the Father Am- 
broses ; for Seyton, with all the heady impetuosity of a youth, 


THE ABBOT. 


489 

proud, and justly so, of his first successful adventure, assumed all 
the bustle and importance of commander of the little party, which 
escorted, in the language of the time, the Fortune of Scotland. 
He now led the van, now checked his bounding steed till the 
rear had come up, exhorted the leaders to keep a steady, though 
rapid, pace, and commanded those who were hindmost of the 
party to use their spurs, and allow no interval to take place in 
their line of march ; and anon he was beside the Queen, or her 
ladies, inquiring how they brooked the hasty journey, and whether 
they had any commands for him. But while Seyton thus busied 
himself in the general cause, with some advantage to the regular 
order of the march, and a good deal of personal ostentation, the 
horseman who rode beside the Queen gave her his full and un- 
divided attention, as if he had been waiting upon some superior 
being. When the road was rugged and dangerous, he abandoned 
almost entirely the care of his own horse, and kept his hand con- 
stantly upon the Queen’s bridle ; if a river or larger brook trav- 
ersed their course, his left arm retained her in the saddle, while 
his right held her palfrey’s rein. 

“ I had not thought, reverend father,” said the Queen when 
they reached the other bank, “ that the convent bred such good 
horsemen.” The person she addressed sighed, but made no other 
answer. “ I know not how it is,” said Queen Mary, “ but either 
the sense of freedom, or the pleasure of my favorite exercise, 
from which I have been so long debarred, or both combined, 
seem to have given wings to me. No fish ever shot through the 
water, no bird through the air, with the hurried feeling of liberty 
and rapture with which I sweep through this night wind, and 
over these wolds. Nay, such is the magic of feeling myself once 
more in the saddle, that I could almost swear I am at this moment 
mounted on my own favorite Rosabelle, who was never matched 
in Scotland for swiftness, for ease of motion, and for sureness of 
foot.” 

“ And if the horse which bears so dear a burden could speak,” 
answered the deep voice of the melancholy George of Douglas, 


49 ° SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

“ would she not reply, ‘ Who but Rosabelle ought at such an 
emergence as this to serve her beloved mistress, or who but 
Douglas ought to hold her bridle rein? ,,, 

Queen Mary started ; she foresaw at once all the evils like to 
arise to herself and him from the deep, enthusiastic passion of 
this youth ; but her feelings as a woman, grateful at once and 
compassionate, prevented her assuming the dignity of a queen, 
and she endeavored to continue the conversation in an indiffer- 
ent tone. 

“ Methought,” she said, “ I heard that, at the division of my 
spoils, Rosabelle had become the property of Lord Morton’s 
ladylove, Alice.” 

“ The noble palfrey had indeed been destined to so base a lot,” 
answered Douglas ; “ she was kept under four keys, and under 
the charge of a numerous crew of grooms and domestics ; but 
Queen Mary needed Rosabelle, and Rosabelle is here.” 

“ And was it well, Douglas,” said Queen Mary, “ when such 
fearful risks of various kinds must needs be encountered, that 
you should augment their perils to yourself, for a subject of so 
little moment as a palfrey ? ” 

“ Do you call that of little moment,” answered Douglas, 
“which has afforded you a moment’s pleasure? Did you not 
start with joy when I first said you were mounted on Rosabelle? 
And to purchase you that pleasure, though it were to last no 
longer than the flash of lightning doth, would not Douglas have 
risked his life a thousand times ? ” 

“ Oh, peace, Douglas, peace,” said the Queen, “ this is unfitting 
language; and, besides, I would speak,” said she, recollecting 
herself, “ with the Abbot of St. Mary’s. Nay, Douglas, I will 
not let you quit my rein in displeasure.” 

“ Displeasure, Lady ! ” answered Douglas : “ alas! sorrow is all 
that I can feel for your well-warranted contempt. I should be 
as soon displeased with Heaven for refusing the wildest wish 
which mortal can form.” 

“ Abide by my rein, however,” said Mary, “ there is room for 


THE ABBOT, 


49 1 


my Lord Abbot on the other side ; and, besides, I doubt if his 
assistance would be so useful to Rosabelle and me as yours has 
been, should the road again require it.” 

The Abbot came up on the other side, and she immediately 
opened a conversation with him on the topic of the state of parties, 
and the plan fittest for her to pursue in consequence of her de- 
liverance. In this conversation Douglas took little share, and 
never but when directly applied to by the Queen, while, as be- 
fore, his attention seemed entirely engrossed by the care of Mary’s 
personal safety. She learned, however, she had a new obligation 
to him, since, by his contrivance, the Abbot, whom he had fur- 
nished with the family password, was introduced into the castle 
as one of the garrison. 

Long before daybreak they ended their hasty and perilous 
journey before the gates of Niddrie, a castle in West Lothian, 
belonging to Lord Seyton. When the Queen was about to alight, 
Henry Seyton, preventing Douglas, received her in his arms, and, 
kneeling down, prayed her Majesty to enter the house of his 
father, her faithful servant. 

“Your Grace,” he added, “may repose yourself here in per- 
fect safety. It is already garrisoned with good men for your 
protection ; and I have sent a post to my father, whose instant 
arrival, at the head of five hundred men, may be looked for. 
Do not dismay yourself, therefore, should your sleep be broken 
by the trampling of horse ; but only think that here are some 
scores more of the saucy Seytons come to attend you.” 

“ And by better friends than the saucy Seytons, a Scottish 
Queen cannot be guarded,” replied Mary. “ Rosabelle went 
fleet as the summer breeze, and well-nigh as easy ; but it is 
long since I have been a traveler, and I feel that repose will 
be welcome. — Catherine, ma mignonne , you must sleep in my 
apartment to-night, and bid me welcome to your noble father’s 
castle. — Thanks, thanks to all my kind deliverers. Thanks and 
a good-night is all I can now offer ; but if I climb once more 
to the upper side of Fortune’s wheel, I will not have her band- 


49 2 


SI. R WALTER SCOTT. 


age . 1 Mary Stuart will keep her eyes open, and distinguish 
her friends. — Seyton, I need scarcely recommend the venerable 
Abbot, the Douglas, and my page to your honorable care and 
hospitality.” 

Henry Seyton bowed, and Catherine and Lady Fleming at- 
tended the Queen to her apartment, where, acknowledging to 
them that she should have found it difficult in that moment to 
keep her promise of holding her eyes open, she resigned herself 
to repose, and awakened not till the morning was advanced. 

Mary’s first feeling, when she awoke, was the doubt of her 
freedom ; and the impulse prompted her to start from bed, and, 
hastily throwing her mantle over her shoulders, to look out at the 
casement of her apartment. Oh, sight of joy ! instead of the 
crystal sheet of Loch Leven, unaltered save by the influence of the 
wind, a landscape of wood and moorland lay before her, and the 
park around the castle was occupied by the troops of her most 
faithful and most favorite nobles. 

“ Rise, rise, Catherine,” cried the enraptured Princess ; “ arise 
and come hither! Here are swords and spears in true hands, 
and glittering armor on loyal breasts. Here are banners, my 
girl, floating in the wind as lightly as summer clouds. Great 
God! what pleasure to my weary eyes to trace their devices ! 2 
Thine own brave father’s, the pLTcely Hamilton’s, the faithful 
Fleming’s. See — see — they have caught a glimpse of me, and 
throng towards the window ! ” 

She flung the casement open, and with her bare head, from 
which the tresses flew back loose and disheveled, her fair arm 
slenderly veiled by her mantle, returned by motion and sign the 
exulting shouts of the warriors, which echoed for many a furlong 
around. When the first burst of ecstatic joy was over, she recol- 

1 The attributes of the Roman goddess Fortuna, were a wheel to represent 
stability and a bandage to signify the blindness of chance. 

2 The representation of one or more objects, with a motto expressive of 
the bearer’s principles. Unlike the badge, the device was not necessarily 
public, though part of it was often used as a badge or cognizance. 


THE ABBOT. 


493 


lected how lightly she was dressed, and, putting her hands to her 
face, which was covered with blushes at the recollection, with- 
drew abruptly from the window. The cause of her retreat was 
easily conjectured, and increased the general enthusiasm for a 
Princess who had forgotten her rank in her haste to acknowledge 
the services of her subjects. The unadorned beauties of the 
lovely woman, too, moved the military spectators more than the 
highest display of her regal state might ; and what might have 
seemed too free in her mode of appearing before them, was 
more than atoned for by the enthusiasm of the moment, and 
by the delicacy evinced in her hasty retreat. Often as the 
shouts died away, as often were they renewed, till wood and hill 
rang again ; and many a deep oath was made that morning on 
the cross of the sword, that the hand should not part with the 
weapon till Mary Stuart was restored to her rights. But what 
are promises, what the hopes of mortals ? In ten days these 
gallant and devoted votaries were slain, were captives, or had 
fled. 

Mary flung herself into the nearest seat, and still blushing, yet 
half smiling, exclaimed, “ Ma mignonne , what will they think of 
me? to show myself to them with my bare feet hastily thrust into 
the slippers, only this loose mantle about me, my hair loose on 
my shoulders, my arms and $eck so bare ! Oh, the best they 
can suppose is that her abode in yonder dungeon has turned their 
Queen’s brain! But my rebel subjects saw me exposed when I 
was in the depth of affliction ; 1 why should I hold colder cere- 
mony with these faithful and loyal men ? Call Fleming, however. 
I trust she has not forgotten the little mail with my apparel. We 
must be as brave as we can, mignomie .” 

(< Nay, madam, our good Lady Fleming was in no case to re- 
member anything.” 

“ You jest, Catherine,” said the Queen, somewhat offended ; 

1 Before the battle of Carberry Hill, Mary had stolen from Edinburgh to 
rejoin Bothwell, in a page’s costume, and was consequently taken prisoner 
in borrowed and insufficient clothing. 


494 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“it is not in her nature, surely, to forget her duty so far as to 
leave us without a change of apparel ? ” 

“ Roland Graeme, madam, took care of that,” answered Cath- 
erine ; “for he threw the mail, with your Highness’s clothes and 
jewels, into the boat, ere he ran back to lock the gate. I never 
saw so awkward a page as that youth ; the packet well-nigh fell 
on my head.” 

“ He shall make thy heart amends, my girl,” said Queen Mary, 
laughing, “ for that and all other offenses given. But call Flem- 
ing, and let us put ourselves into apparel to meet our faithful 
lords.” 

Such had been the preparations, and such was the skill of Lady 
Fleming, that the Queen appeared before her assembled nobles in 
such attire as became, though it could not enhance, her natural 
dignity. With the most winning courtesy she expressed to each 
individual her grateful thanks, and dignified not only every noble, 
but many of the lesser barons, by her particular attention. 

“And whither now, my lords?” she said. “What way do 
your counsels determine for us ? ” 

“To Draphane Castle,” replied Lord Arbroath , 1 “if your 
Majesty is so pleased; and thence to Dunbarton 2 to place your 
Grace’s person in safety, after which we long to prove if these 
traitors will abide us in the field.” 

“ And when do we journey ? ” 

“ We propose,” said Lord Seyton, “if your Grace’s fatigue will 
permit, to take horse after the morning’s meal.” 

“Your pleasure, my lords, is mine,” replied the Queen; “we 
will rule our journey by your wisdom now, and hope hereafter 
to have the advantage of governing by it our kingdom. You 
will permit my ladies and me, my good lords, to break our fasts 
along with you. We must be half soldiers ourselves, and set state 
apart.” 

1 Lord of the Barony of Arbroath, in Forfarshire, east of Perthshire. 

2 A strong castle, built on a steep rock projecting into the channel of the 
Clyde, near Glasgow. 


THE ABBOT. 


495 

Low bowed many a helmeted head at this gracious proffer, 
when the Queen, glancing her eyes through the assembled leaders, 
missed both Douglas and Roland Graeme, and inquired for them 
in a whisper to Catherine Seyton. 

“ They are in yonder oratory, madam, sad enough,” replied 
Catherine ; and the Queen observed that her favorite’s eyes were 
red with weeping. 

“ This must not be,” said the Queen. “ Keep the company 
amused. I will seek them, and introduce them myself.” 

She went into the oratory, where the first she met was George 
Douglas, standing, or rather reclining, in the recess of a win- 
dow, his back rested against the wall, and his arms folded on his 
breast. At the sight of the Queen he started, and his counte- 
nance showed, for an instant, an expression of intense delight, 
which was instantly exchanged for his usual deep melancholy. 

" What means this ? ” she said. “ Douglas, why does the first 
deviser and bold executor of the happy scheme for our freedom 
shun the company of his fellow-nobles, and of the Sovereign 
whom he has obliged? ” 

“ Madam,” replied Douglas, “ those whom you grace with your 
presence bring followers to aid your cause, wealth to support your 
state, can offer you halls in which to feast, and impregnable castles 
for your defense. I am a houseless and landless man, disinherited 
by my mother, and laid under her malediction, disowned by my 
name and kindred ; who brings nothing to your standard but a 
single sword, and the poor life of its owner.” 

“ Do you mean to upbraid me, Douglas,” replied the Queen, 
“ by showing what you have lost for my sake ? ” 

“ God forbid, madam!” interrupted the young man eagerly; 
“ were it to do again, and had I ten times as much rank and 
wealth, and twenty times as many friends to lose, my losses would 
be overpaid by the first step you made, as a free Princess, upon 
the soil of your native kingdom.” 

“And what then ails you, that you will not rejoice with those 
who rejoice upon the same joyful occasion? ” said the Queen. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


496 

“ Madam,” replied the youth, “ though exheridated 1 and dis- 
owned, I am yet a Douglas. With most of yonder nobles my 
family have been in feud for ages. A cold reception amongst 
them were an insult, and a kind one yet more humiliating.” 

:• “For shame, Douglas,” replied the Queen, “shake off this 
umnanly gloom! I can make thee match for the best of them 
in title and fortune, and, believe me, I will. Go then amongst 
them, I command you.” 

“ That word,” said Douglas, “ is enough ; I go. This only let 
me say, that not for wealth or title would I have done that which 
I have done. Mary Stuart will not, and the Queen can not, re- 
ward me.” 

So saying, he left the oratory, mingled with the nobles, and 
placed himself at the bottom of the table. The Queen looked 
after him, and put her kerchief to her eyes. 

“ Now, Our Lady pity me,” she said, “for no sooner are my 
prison cares ended than those which beset me as a woman and 
a queen again thicken around me. Happy Elizabeth ! 2 to whom 
political interest is everything, and whose heart never betrays thy 
head. And now must I seek this other boy, if I would prevent 
daggers-drawing betwixt him and the young Seyton.” 

Roland Graeme was in the same oratory, but at such a dis- 
tance from Douglas that he could not overhear what passed 
betwixt the Queen and him. He also was moody and thought- 
ful, but cleared his brow at the Queen’s question : “ How now, 
Roland ? you are negligent in your attendance this morning. 
Are you so much overcome with your night’s ride? ” 

“ Not so, gracious madam,” answered Graeme ; “ but I am told 
the page of Lochleven is not the page of Niddrie Castle; and so 
Master Henry Seyton hath in a manner been pleased to supersede 
my attendance.” 

“ Now, Heaven forgive me,” said the Queen, “how soon these 
cock chickens begin to spar! With children and boys, at least, 
I may be a queen. I will have you friends. Some one send 
1 Disinherited. 2 Queen of England. 


THE ABBOT. 


497 

me Henry Seyton hither.” As she spoke the last words aloud, 
the youth whom she had named entered the apartment. “ Come 
hither,” she said, “ Henry Seyton. I will have you give your 
hand to this youth, who so well aided in the plan of my 
escape.” 

“ Willingly, madam,” answered Seyton, “so that the youth 
will grant me, as a boon, that he touch not the hand of another 
Seyton whom he knows of. My hand has passed current for 
hers with him before now, and to win my friendship he must 
give up thoughts of my sister’s love.” 

“ Henry Seyton,” said the Queen, “ does it become you to 
add any condition to my command ? ” 

“ Madam,” said Henry, “ I am the servant of your Grace’s 
throne, son to the most loyal man in Scotland. Our goods, our 
castles, our blood, are yours ; our honor is in our own keeping. 
I could say more, but ” — 

“Nay, speak on, rude boy,” said the Queen; “what avails 
it that I am released from Lochleven, if I am thus enthralled 
under the yoke of my pretended deliverers, and prevented 
from doing justice to one who has deserved as well of me as 
yourself ? ” 

“ Be not in this distemperature 1 for me, sovereign Lady,” said 
Roland. “This young gentleman, being the faithful servant 
of your Grace, and the brother of Catherine Seyton, bears that 
about him which will charm down my passion at the hottest.” 

“ I warn thee once more,” said Henry Seyton haughtily, 
“ that you make no speech which may infer that the daughter of 
Lord Seyton can be aught to thee beyond what she is to every 
churl’s blood in Scotland.” 

The Queen was again about to interfere, for Roland’s com- 
plexion rose, and it became somewhat questionable how long his 
love for Catherine would suppress the natural fire of his temper ; 
but the interposition of another person, hitherto unseen, prevented 
Mary’s interference. There was in the oratory a separate shrine, 

1 Disturbance of mind. 


3 2 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


498 

inclosed with a high screen of pierced 1 oak, within which was 
placed an image of St. Bennet, of peculiar sanctity. From this 
recess, in which she had been probably engaged in her devotions, 
issued suddenly Magdalen Graeme, and addressed Henry Seyton 
in reply to his last offensive expressions. “ And of what clay, then, 
are they molded, these Seytons, that the blood of the Graemes 
may not aspire to mingle with theirs ? Know, proud boy, that 
when I call this youth my daughter’s child, I affirm his descent 
from Malise, Earl of Strathern, called Malise with the Bright 
Brand ; and I trow the blood of your house springs from no higher 
source.” 

“ Good mother,” said Seyton* “ methinks your sanctity should 
make you superior to these worldly vanities ; and indeed it seems 
to have rendered you somewhat oblivious touching them, since, 
to be of gentle descent, the father’s name and lineage must be as 
well qualified as the mother’s.” 

“ And if I say he comes of the blood of Avenel by the father’s 
side,” replied Magdalen Graeme, “ name I not blood as richly 
colored as thine own ? ” 

“ Of Avenel ? ” said the Queen ; “ is my page descended of 
Avenel ? ” 

“ Ay, gracious Princess, and the last male heir of that ancient 
house. Julian Avenel was his father, who fell in battle against 
the Southron.” 

“ I have heard the tale of sorrow,” said the Queen. “It was 
thy daughter, then, who followed that unfortunate baron to the 
field, and died on his body ? 2 Alas! how many ways does 
woman’s affection find to work out her own misery! The tale 
has oft been told and sung in hall and bower. — And thou, 
Roland, art that child of misfortune who was left among the 
dead and dying ? — Henry Seyton, he is thine equal in blood 
and birth.” 

“ Scarcely so,” said Henry Seyton, “ even were he legitimate ; 

1 The effect of pierced work was produced by numerous openings, usually 
small. 2 See Introduction, and The Monastery. 


THE ABBOT. 


499 

but if the tale be told and sung aright, his father was a false 
knight, and his mother a frail and credulous maiden.” 

“Now, by Heaven, thou liest!” said Roland Graeme, and laid 
his hand on his sword. The entrance of Lord Seyton, however, 
prevented violence. 

“ Save me, my lord,” said the Queen, “ and separate these wild 
and untamed spirits.” 

“How, Henry,” said the baron, “are my castle, and the 
Queen’s presence, no checks on thine insolence and impetuosity ? 
And with whom art thou brawling ? Unless my eyes spell that 
token false, it is with the very youth who aided me so gallantly 
in the skirmish with the Leslies. — Let me look, fair youth, at the 
medal which thou wearest in thy cap. By St. Bennet, it is the 
same! — Henry, I command thee to forbear him, as thou lovest 
my blessing ” — 

“ And as you honor my command,” said the Queen ; “ good 
service hath he done me.” 

“ Ay, madam,” replied young Seyton, “ as when he carried the 
billet inclosed in the sword sheath to Lochleven. Marry, the 
good youth knew no more than a pack horse what he was 
carrying.” 

“ But I who dedicated him to this great work,” said Magdalen 
Graeme, “ I, by whose advice and agency this just heir hath been 
unloosed from her thraldom, I, who spared not the last remaining 
hope of a falling house in this great action, — I, at least, knew 
and counseled ; and what merit may be mine, let the reward, most 
gracious Queen, descend upon this youth. My ministry here is 
ended ; you are free, — a sovereign Princess, at the head of a 
gallant army, surrounded by valiant barons. My service could 
avail you no farther, but might well prejudice you ; your fortune 
now rests upon men’s hearts and men’s swords. May they prove 
as trusty as the faith of women!” 

“ You will not leave us, mother,” said the Queen, “ you, whose 
practices in our favor were so powerful, who dared so many dan- 
gers, and wore so many disguises, to blind our enemies and to 


500 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

confirm our friends ? You will not leave us in the dawn of our 
reviving fortunes, ere we have time to know and to thank you ? ” 

“You cannot know her,” answered Magdalen Graeme, “who 
knows not herself. There are times when, in this woman’s frame 
of mine, there is the strength of him of Gath j 1 in this overtoiled 
brain, the wisdom of the most sage counselor ; and again the mist 
is on me, and my strength is weakness, my wisdom folly. I have 
spoken before princes and cardinals, — ay, noble Princess, even 
before the princes of thine own House of Lorraine ; and I know 
not whence the words of persuasion came which flowed from my 
lips, and were drunk in by their ears. And now, even when I 
most need words of persuasion, there is something which chokes 
my voice, and robs me of utterance.” 

“ If there be aught in my power to do thee pleasure,” said the 
Queen, “ the barely naming it shall avail as well as all thine elo- 
quence.” 

“ Sovereign Lady,” replied the enthusiast, “ it shames me that 
at this high moment something of human frailty should cling to 
one whose vows the saints have heard, whose labors in the right- 
ful cause Heaven has prospered. But it will be thus while the 
living spirit is shrined in the clay of mortality. I will yield to 
the folly,” she said, weeping as she spoke, “ and it shall be the 
last.” Then, seizing Roland’s hand, she led him to the Queen’s 
feet, kneeling herself upon one knee, and causing him to kneel 
on both. “ Mighty Princess,” she said, “ look on this flower. 
It was found by a kindly stranger on a bloody field of battle, and 
long it was ere my anxious eyes saw, and my arms pressed, all 
that was left of my only daughter. For your sake, and for that 
of the holy faith we both profess, I could leave this plant, while 
it was yet tender, to the nurture of strangers — ay, of enemies, by 
whom, perchance, his blood would have been poured forth as 
wine had the heretic Glendinning known that he had in his 
house the heir of Julian Avenel. Since then I have seen him 
only in a few hours of doubt and dread, and now I part with the 
1 The Philistine giant, Goliath of Gath (see i Sam. xvii.). 


THE ABBOT. 


501 


child of my love forever — forever! Oh, for every weary step I 
have made in your rightful cause, in this and in foreign lands, 
give protection to the child whom I must no more call mine!” 

“ I swear to you, mother,” said the Queen, deeply affected, 
“ that, for your sake and his own, his happiness and fortune shall 
be our charge ! ” 

“ I thank you, daughter of princes,” said Magdalen, and pressed 
her lips, first to the Queen’s hand, then to the brow of her grand- 
son. “And now,” she said, drying her tears, and rising with 
dignity, “ Earth has had its own, and Heaven claims the rest. 
Lioness of Scotland, go forth and conquer! and if the prayers 
of a devoted votaress can avail thee, they will rise in many a 
land, and from many a distant shrine. I will glide like a ghost 
from land to land, from temple to temple ; and where the very 
name of my country is unknown, the priests shall ask who is the 
Queen of that distant northern land, for whom the aged pilgrim 
was so fervent in prayer. Farewell! Honor be thine, and earthly 
prosperity, if it be the will of God; if not, may the penance 
thou shalt do here insure thee happiness hereafter! Let no one 
speak or follow me. My resolution is taken ; my vow cannot be 
canceled.” 

She glided from their presence as she spoke, and her last look 
was upon her beloved grandchild. He would have risen and 
followed, but the Queen and Lord Seyton interfered. 

“ Press not on her now,” said Lord Seyton, “ if you would not 
lose her forever. Many a time have we seen the sainted mother, 
and often at the most needful moment ; but to press on her pri- 
vacy, or to thwart her purpose, is a crime which she cannot par- 
don. I trust we shall yet see her at her need. A holy woman 
she is for certain, and dedicated wholly to prayer and penance ; 
and hence the heretics hold her as one distracted, while true 
Catholics deem her a saint.” 

“ Let me then hope,” said the Queen, “that you, my lord, will 
aid me in the execution of her last request.” 

“What! in the protection of my young second ? Cheerfully 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


5 02 

— that is, in all that your Majesty can think it fitting to ask of 
me. — Henry, give thy hand upon the instant to Roland Avenel, 
for so I presume he must now be called.” 

“ And shall be Lord of the Barony,” said the Queen, “ if God 
prosper our rightful arms.” 

“ It can only be to restore it to my kind protectress, who now 
holds it,” said young Avenel. “ I would rather be landless all 
my life than she lost a rood of ground by me.” 

“Nay,” said the Queen, looking to Lord Seyton, “his mind 
matches his birth. — Henry, thou hast not yet given thy hand.” 

“ It is his,” said Henry, giving it with some appearance of 
courtesy, but whispering Roland at the same time, “ For all this, 
thou hast not my sister’s.” 

“ May it please your Grace,” said Lord Seyton, “ now that 
these passages are over, to honor our poor meal. Time it were 
that our banners were reflected in the Clyde. We must to horse 
with as little delay as may be.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

I T is not our object to enter into the historical part of the reign 
of the ill-fated Mary, or to recount how, during the week 
which succeeded her flight from Lochleven, her partisans mustered 
around her with their followers, forming a gallant army amount- 
ing to six thousand men. So much light has been lately thrown 
on the most minute details of the period, by Mr. Chalmers 1 in 
his valuable “ History of Queen Mary,” that the reader may be 
safely referred to it for the fullest information which ancient 
records afford concerning that interesting time. It is sufficient 
for our purpose to say that while Mary’s headquarters were at 

1 George Chalmers (1742-1825), a Scottish antiquary, published a life of 
Queen Mary in 1818. 


THE ABBOT. 


503 


Hamilton, the Regent and his adherents had, in the King’s name, 
assembled a host at Glasgow, inferior indeed to that of the Queen 
in numbers, but formidable from the military talents of Murray, 
Morton, the Laird of Grange, and others who had been trained 
from their youth in foreign and domestic wars. 

In these circumstances, it was the obvious policy of Queen 
Mary to avoid a conflict, secure that were her person once in 
safety, the number of her adherents must daily increase ; where- 
as the forces of those opposed to her must, as had frequently 
happened in the previous history of her reign, have diminished, 
and their spirits become broken. And so evident was this to 
her counselors, that they resolved their first step should be to 
place the Queen in the strong Castle of Dunbarton, there to await 
the course of events, the arrival of succors from France, and the 
levies which were made by her adherents in every province of 
Scotland. Accordingly, orders were given that all men should 
be on horseback or on foot, appareled in their armor, and ready 
to follow the Queen’s standard in array of battle, the avowed 
determination being to escort her to the Castle of Dunbarton in 
defiance of her enemies. 

The muster was made upon Hamilton Moor , 1 and the march 
commenced in all the pomp of feudal times. Military music 
sounded, banners and pennons waved, armor glittered far and 
wide, and spears glanced and twinkled like stars in a frosty sky. 
The gallant spectacle of warlike parade was, on this occasion, 
dignified by the presence of the Queen herself, who, with a fair 
retinue of ladies and household attendants, and a special guard 
of gentlemen, amongst whom young Seyton and Roland were 
distinguished, gave grace at once and confidence to the army, 
which spread its ample files before, around, and behind her. 
Many churchmen also joined the cavalcade, most of whom did 
not scruple to assume arms, and declare their intention of wield- 
ing them in defense of Mary and the Catholic faith. Not so the 

. 1 The estate of Hamilton, in Lanarkshire, was held at this time by Lord 
John Hamilton, a relative and stanch adherent of Queen Mary. 


5°4 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


Abbot of St. Mary’s. Roland had not seen this prelate since 
the night of their escape from Lochleven, and he now beheld 
him, robed in the dress of his order, assume his station near the 
Queen’s person. Roland hastened to pull off his basnet, and 
beseech the Abbot’s blessing. 

“ Thou hast it, my son ! ” said the priest ; “ I see thee now 
under thy true name, and in thy rightful garb. The helmet with 
the holly branch befits your brows well. I have long waited for 
the hour thou shouldst assume it.” 

“ Then you knew of my descent, my good father! ” said Roland. 

“ I did so, but it was under seal of confession from thy grand- 
mother; nor was I at liberty to tell the secret till she herself 
should make it known.” 

“ Her reason for such secrecy, my father ? ” said Roland Avenel. 

“ Fear, perchance, of my brother ; a mistaken fear, for Halbert 
would not, to insure himself a kingdom, have offered wrong to 
an orphan ; besides that, your title, in quiet times, even had your 
father done your mother that justice which I well hope he did, 
could not have competed with that of my brother’s wife, the child 
of Julian’s elder brother.” 

“They need fear no competition from me,” said Avenel. 
“ Scotland is wide enough, and there are many manors to win, 
without plundering my benefactor. But prove to me, my reverend 
father, that my father was just to my mother ; show me that I 
may call myself a legitimate Avenel, and make me your bounden 
slave forever.” 

“Ay,” replied the Abbot, “ I hear the Seytons hold thee cheap 
for that stain on thy shield. Something, however, I have learnt 
from the late Abbot Boniface, which, if it prove sooth, may re- 
deem that reproach.” 

“ Tell me that blessed news,” said Roland, “ and the future 
service of my life ” — 

“ Rash boy! ” said the Abbot, “ I should but madden thine im- 
patient temper, by exciting hopes that may never be fulfilled ; 
and is this a time for them ? Think on what perilous march we 


THE ABBOT. 


5°5 

are bound, and if thou hast a sin unconfessed, neglect not the 
only leisure which Heaven may perchance afford thee for con- 
fession and absolution.” 

“ There will be time enough for both, I trust, when we reach 
Dunbarton,” answered the page. 

“Ay,” said the Abbot, “ thou crowest as loudly as the rest ; but 
we are not yet at Dunbarton, and there is a lion in the path.” 

“ Mean you Murray, Morton, and the other rebels at Glasgow, 
my reverend father? Tush! they dare not look on the royal 
banner.” 

“ Even so,” replied the Abbot, “speak many of those who are 
older, and should be wiser, than thou. I have returned from the 
Southern shires , 1 where I left many a chief of name arming in 
the Queen’s interest. I left the lords here wise and considerate 
men ; I find them madmen on my return. They are willing, for 
mere pride and vainglory, to brave the enemy, and to carry the 
Queen, as it were in triumph, past the walls of Glasgow, and 
under the beards of the adverse army. Seldom does Heaven 
smile on such mistimed confidence. We shall be encountered, 
and that to the purpose.” 

“ And so much the better,” replied Roland ; “ the field of battle 
was my cradle.” 

“ Beware it be not thy dying bed,” said the Abbot. “ But 
what avails it whispering to young wolves the dangers of the 
chase ? You will know, perchance, ere this day is out, what 
yonder men are, whom you hold in rash contempt.” 

“Why, what are they? ” said Henry Seyton, who now joined 
them ; “ have they sinews of wire, and flesh of iron ? Will lead 
pierce and steel cut them ? If so, reverend father, we have little 
to fear.” 

“They are evil men,” said the Abbot, “but the trade of war 
demands no saints. Murray and Morton are known to be the 
best generals in Scotland. No one ever saw Lindesay’s or 
Ruthven’s back ; Kirkaldy of Grange 2 was named by the Con- 
1 Counties. 2 Kirkaldy served for some time in France. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


5°6 

stable Montmorency 1 the first soldier in Europe ; my brother, too 
good a name for such a cause, has been far and wide known for 
a soldier.” 

“ The better, the better! ” said Seyton triumphantly ; “ we shall 
have all these traitors of rank and name in a fair field before us. 
Our cause is the best, our numbers are the strongest, our hearts 
and limbs match theirs. St. Bennet, and set on! ” 

The Abbot made no reply, but seemed lost in reflection ; and 
his anxiety in some measure communicated itself to Roland 
Avenel, who ever, as their line of march led over a ridge or an 
eminence, cast an anxious look towards the towers of Glasgow, 
as if he expected to see symptoms of the enemy issuing forth. It 
was not that he feared the fight, but the issue was of such deep 
import to his country, and to himself, that the natural fire of his 
spirit burned with a less lively, though with a more intense, glow. 
Love, honor, fame, fortune, — all seemed to depend on the issue 
of one field, rashly hazarded perhaps, but now likely to become 
unavoidable and decisive. 

When, at length, their march came to be nearly parallel with 
the city of Glasgow, Roland became sensible that the high grounds 
before them were already in part occupied by a force showing, 
like their own, the royal banner of Scotland, and on the point of 
being supported by columns of infantry and squadrons of horse, 
which the city gates had poured forth, and which hastily advanced 
to sustain those troops who already possessed the ground in front 
of the Queen’s forces. Horseman after horseman galloped in 
from the advanced guard, with tidings that Murray had taken the 
field with his whole army ; that his object was to intercept the 
Queen’s march, and his purpose unquestionable to hazard a battle. 
It was now that the tempers of men were subjected to a sudden 
and a severe trial ; and that those who had too presumptuously 
concluded that they would pass without combat, were something 
disconcerted when, at once, and with little time to deliberate, they 

1 First Duke of Montmorency (1492-1567). He belonged to one of the 
greatest families of France, and was distinguished for his bravery. 


THE ABBOT. 


507 


found themselves placed in front of a resolute enemy. Their 
chiefs immediately assembled around the Queen, and held a hasty 
council of war. Mary’s quivering lip confessed the fear which 
she endeavored to conceal under a bold and dignified demeanor. 
But her efforts were overcome by painful recollections of the dis- 
astrous issue of her last appearance in arms at Carberry Hill ; and 
when she meant to have asked them their advice for ordering the 
battle, she involuntarily inquired whether there were no means of 
escaping without an engagement. 

“ Escaping ? ” answered the Lord Seyton. “ When I stand as 
one to ten of your Highness’s enemies, I may think of escape ; 
but never while I stand with three to two! ” 

“Battle! battle! ” exclaimed the assembled lords. “We will 
drive the rebels from their vantage ground, as the hound turns 
the hare on the hillside.” 

“ Methinks, my noble lords,” said the Abbot, “ it were as well 
to prevent his gaining that advantage. Our road lies through 
yonder hamlet on the brow, and whichever party hath the luck 
to possess it, with its little gardens and inclosures, will attain a 
post of great defense.” 

“ The reverend father is right,” said the Queen. “ Oh, haste 
thee, Seyton, haste, and get thither before them! They are 
marching like the wind.” 

Seyton bowed low, and turned his horse’s head. “ Your High- 
ness honors me,” he said ; “ I will instantly press forward and 
seize the pass.” 

“ Not before me, my lord, whose charge is the command of 
the vanguard,” said the Lord of Arbroath. 

“ Before you, or any Hamilton in Scotland,” said the Seyton, 
“having the Queen’s command. — Follow me, gentlemen, my 
vassals and kinsmen. St. Bennet, and set on!” 

“And follow me,” said Arbroath, “my noble kinsmen, and 
brave men tenants ; we will see which will first reach the post of 
danger. For God and Queen Mary!” 

“ Ill-omened haste, and most unhappy strife,” said the Abbot, 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


5°8 

who saw them and their followers rush hastily and emulously to 
ascend the height without waiting till their men were placed in 
order. “And you, gentlemen,” he continued, addressing Roland 
and Seyton, who were each about to follow those who hastened 
thus disorderly to the conflict, “will you leave the Queen’s 
person unguarded ? ” 

“Oh, leave me not, gentlemen!” said the Queen. “Roland 
and Seyton, do not leave me! There are enough of arms to 
strike in this fell combat. Withdraw not those to whom I trust 
for my safety.” 

“We may not leave her Grace,” said Roland, looking at Sey- 
ton, and turning his horse. 

“ I ever looked when thou wouldst find out that,” rejoined the 
fiery youth. 

Roland made no answer, but bit his lip till the blood came, 
and spurring his horse up to the side of Catherine Seyton’s pal- 
frey, he whispered in a low voice, “ I never thought to have done 
aught to deserve you; but this day I have heard myself up- 
braided with cowardice, and my sword remained still sheathed, 
and all for the love of you.” 

“There is madness among us all,” said the damsel; “my 
father, my brother, and you, are all alike bereft of reason. Ye 
should think only of this poor Queen, and you are all inspired 
by your own absurd jealousies. The monk is the only soldier 
and man of sense amongst you all. — My Lord Abbot,” she cried 
aloud, “ were it not better we should draw to the westward, and 
wait the event that God shall send us, instead of remaining here 
in the highway, endangering the Queen’s person, and cumbering 
the troops in their advance ? ” 

“You say well, my daughter,” replied the Abbot; “had we 
but one to guide us where the Queen’s person may be in safety. 
Our nobles hurry to the conflict, without casting a thought on 
the very cause of the war.” 

“Follow me,” said a kniglit, or man-at-arms, well mounted, 
and attired completely in black armor, but having the visor of 


THE ABBOT. 


5°9 

his helmet closed, and bearing no crest on his helmet, or device 
upon his shield. 

“We will follow no stranger,” said the Abbot, “without some 
warrant of his truth.” 

“lama stranger, and in your hands,” said the horseman ; “ if 
you wish to know more of me, the Queen herself will be your 
warrant.” 

The Queen had remained fixed to the spot, as if disabled by 
fear, yet mechanically smiling, bowing, and waving her hand, as 
banners were lowered and spears depressed before her, while, 
emulating the strife betwixt Seyton and Arbroath, band on band 
pressed forward their march towards the enemy. Scarce, how- 
ever, had the black rider whispered something in her ear, than 
she assented to what he said ; and when he spoke aloud, and 
with an air of command, “ Gentlemen, it is the Queen’s pleasure 
that you should follow me,” Mary uttered with something like 
eagerness, the word “Yes.” 

All were in motion in an instant; for the black horseman, 
throwing off a sort of apathy of manner, which his first appear- 
ance indicated, spurred his horse to and fro, making him take 
such active bounds and short turns as showed t the rider master 
of the animal ; and getting the Queen’s little retinue in some 
order for marching, he led them to the left, directing his course 
towards a castle which, crowning a gentle yet commanding emi- 
nence, presented an extensive view over the country beneath, and, 
in particular, commanded a view of those heights which both 
armies hastened to occupy, and which it was now apparent must 
almost instantly be the scene of struggle and dispute. 

“ Yonder towers,” said the Abbot, questioning the sable horse- 
man, “ to whom do they belong ? and are they now in the hands 
of friends? ” 

“ They are untenanted,” replied the stranger, “ or, at least, they 
have no hostile inmates. But urge these youths, Sir Abbot, to make 
more haste. This is but an evil time to satisfy their idle curiosity 
by peering out upon the battle in which they are to take no share.” 


SIR WALTER SCOTT 


5 IQ 

“The worse luck mine,” said Henry Seyton, who overheard 
him ; “ I would rather be under my father’s banner at this mo- 
ment, than be made chamberlain of Holyrood for this my present 
duty of peaceful ward well and patiently discharged.” 

“ Your place under your father’s banner will shortly be right 
dangerous,” said Roland Avenel, who, pressing his horse towards 
the westward, had still his look reverted to the armies ; “ for I 
see yonder body of cavalry, which presses from the eastward, will 
reach the village ere Lord Seyton can gain it.” 

“ They are but cavalry,” said Seyton, looking attentively ; 
“ they cannot hold the village without shot of harquebuss.” 

“ Look more closely,” said Roland ; “ you will see that each 
of these horsemen who advance so rapidly from Glasgow, carries 
a footman behind him.” 

“Now, by Heaven, he speaks well!” said the black cavalier; 
“ one of you two must go carry the news to Lord Seyton and 
Lord Arbroath, that they hasten not their horsemen on before the 
foot, but advance more regularly.” 

“ Be that my errand,” said Roland, “ for I first marked the 
stratagem of the enemy.” 

“But, by your leave,” said Seyton, “yonder is my father’s 
banner engaged, and it best becomes me to go to the rescue.” 

“ I will stand by the Queen’s decision,” said Roland Avenel. 

“ What new appeal ? what new quarrel ? ” said Queen Mary. 
“ Are there not in yonder dark host enemies enough to Mary 
Stuart, but must her very friends turn enemies to each other ? ” 

“Nay, madam,” said Roland, “the young master of Seyton 
and I did but dispute who should leave your person to do a most 
needful message to the host. He thought his rank entitled him, 
and I deemed that the person of least consequence, being my- 
self, were better periled ” — 

“Not so,” said the Queen; “if one must leave me, be it 
Seyton.” 

Henry Seyton bowed till the white plumes on his helmet mixed 
with the flowing mane of his gallant war horse, then placed him- 


THE ABBOT. 


5 1 1 

self firm in the saddle, shook his lance aloft with an air of triumph 
and determination, and striking his horse with the spurs, made 
towards his father’s banner, which was still advancing up the hill, 
and dashed his steed over every obstacle that occurred in his 
headlong path. 

“My brother! my father! ” exclaimed Catherine, with an ex- 
pression of agonized apprehension. “ They are in the midst of 
peril, and I in safety ! ” 

“Would to God,” said Roland, “that I were with them, and 
could ransom every drop of their blood by two of mine ! ” 

“ Do I not know thou dost wish it ? ” said Catherine. “ Can 
a woman say to a man what I have well-nigh said to thee, 
and yet think that he could harbor fear or faintness of heart ? 
There is that in yon distant sound of approaching battle that 
pleases me even while it affrights me. I would I were a man, 
that I might feel that stern delight, without the mixture of 
terror! ” 

“ Ride up, ride up, Lady Catherine Seyton,” cried the Abbot, 
as they still swept on at a rapid pace, and were now close be- 
neath the walls of the castle, “ ride up, and aid Lady Fleming to 
support the Queen. She gives way more and more.” 

They halted, and lifted Mary from the saddle, and were about 
to support her towards the castle, when she said faintly, “Not 
there — not there — these walls will I never enter more ! ” 

“Be a queen, madam,” said the Abbot, “and forget that you 
are a woman.” 

“ Oh, I must forget much, much more,” answered the unfor- 
tunate Mary in an undertone, “ ere I can look with steady eyes 
on these well-known scenes! I must forget the days which I 
spent here as the bride of the lost — the murdered ” — 

“ This is the Castle of Crookstone,” 1 said the Lady Fleming, 

l Mary really saw the battle of Langsicle, not from Crookstone Castle, 

which is four miles west of the field, but from Cathcart Castle. Scott, how- 
ever, having been at first misled by a tradition, decided on retaining Crook- 
stone, as adding an ironic interest to the scene. 


5 12 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


“ in which the Queen held her first court after she was married to 
Darnley.” 

“ Heaven,” said the Abbot, “ thy hand is upon us! — Bear yet 
up, madam ; your foes are the foes of Holy Church, and God 
will this day decide whether Scotland shall be Catholic or heretic.” 

A heavy and continued fire of cannon and musketry bore a 
tremendous burden to his words, and seemed far more than they 
to recall the spirits of the Queen. 

“To yonder tree,” she said, pointing to a yew tree which grew 
on a small mount close to the castle ; “ I know it well ; from 
thence you may see a prospect wide as from the peaks of Sche- 
hallion.” 1 

And freeing herself from her assistants, she walked with a de- 
termined, yet somewhat wild, step, up to the stem of the noble 
yew. The Abbot, Catherine, and Roland Avenel followed her, 
while Lady Fleming kept back the inferior persons of her train. 
The black horseman also followed the Queen, waiting on her as 
closely as the shadow upon the light, but ever remaining at the 
distance of two or three yards. He folded his arms on his bosom, 
turned his back to the battle, and seemed solely occupied by 
gazing on Mary through the bars of his closed vizor. The Queen 
regarded him not, but fixed her eyes upon the spreading yew. 

“Ay, fair and stately tree,” she said, as if at the sight of it she 
had been rapt away from the present scene, and had overcome 
the horror which had oppressed her at the first approach to Crook- 
stone, “ there thou standest, gay and goodly as ever, though thou 
hearest the sounds of war instead of the vows of love. All is gone 
since I last greeted thee, — love and lover, vows and vower, king 
and kingdom. — How goes the field, my Lord Abbot ? With us, I 
trust ; yet what but evil can Mary’s eyes witness from this spot ? ” 

Her attendants eagerly bent their eyes on the field of battle, but 
could discover nothing more than that it was obstinately contested. 
The small inclosures and cottage gardens in the village, of which 
they had a full and commanding view, and which shortly before 
1 A huge, isolated mountain in Perthshire. 


THE ABBOT. 


5*3 

lay, with their lines of sycamore and ash trees, so still and quiet 
in the mild light of a May sun, were now each converted into a 
line of fire, canopied by smoke ; and the sustained and constant 
report of the musketry and cannon, mingled with the shouts of 
meeting combatants, showed that as yet neither party had given 
ground. 

“ Many a soul finds its final departure to heaven or hell in these 
awful thunders,” said the Abbot ; “ let those that believe in the 
Holy Church, join me in orisons for victory in this dreadful 
combat.” 

“Not here — not here,” said the unfortunate Queen; “pray 
not here, father, or pray in silence. My mind is too much torn 
between the past and the present, to dare to approach the 
heavenly throne. Or, if ye will pray, be it for one whose fondest 
affections have been her greatest crimes, and who has ceased 
to be a queen only because she was a deceived and a tender- 
hearted woman.” 

“ Were it not well,” said Roland, “ that I rode somewhat nearer 
the hosts, and saw the fate of the day ? ” 

“Do so, in the name of God,” said the Abbot; “for if our 
friends are scattered, our flight must be hasty. But beware thou 
approach not too nigh the conflict ; there is more than thine own 
life depends on thy safe return.” 

“ Oh, go not too nigh,” said Catherine ; “ but fail not to see 
how the Seytons fight, and how they bear themselves.” 

“ Fear nothing, I will be on my guard,” said Roland Avenel, 
and without waiting farther answer, rode towards the scene of 
conflict, keeping, as he rode, the higher and uninclosed ground, 
and ever looking cautiously around him, for fear of involving 
himself in some hostile party. As he approached, the shots rung 
sharp and more sharply on his ear, the shouts came wilder and 
wilder, and he felt that thick beating of the heart, that mixture 
of natural apprehension, intense curiosity, and anxiety for the 
dubious event, which even the bravest experience when they ap- 
proach alone to a scene of interest and of danger. 

33 


5H 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


At length he drew so close, that from a bank screened by 
bushes and underwood he could distinctly see where the struggle 
was most keenly maintained. This was in a hollow way, lead- 
ing to the village, up which the Queen’s vanguard had marched, 
with more hasty courage than well-advised conduct, for the pur- 
pose of possessing themselves of that post of advantage. They 
found their scheme anticipated, and the hedges and inclosures 
already occupied by the enemy, led by the celebrated Kirkaldy 
of Grange and the Earl of Morton ; and not small was the loss 
which they sustained while struggling forward to come to close 
with the men-at-arms on the other side. But, as the Queen’s 
followers were chiefly noblemen and barons, with their kinsmen 
and followers, they had pressed onward, contemning obstacles 
and danger, and had, when Roland arrived on the ground, met 
hand to hand at the gorge 1 of the pass with the Regent’s van- 
guard, and endeavored to bear them out of the village at the 
spear point ; while their foes, equally determined to keep the ad- 
vantage which they had attained, struggled with the like obstinacy 
to drive back the assailants. 

Both parties were on foot, and armed in proof ; so that, when 
the long lances of the front ranks were fixed in each other’s shields, 
corselets, and breastplates, the struggle resembled that of two 
bulls, who, fixing their frontlets hard against each other, remain 
in that posture for hours, until the superior strength or obstinacy 
of the one compels the other to take to flight, or bears him down 
to the earth. Thus locked together in the deadly struggle, which 
swayed slowly to and fro, as one or other party gained the ad- 
vantage, those who fell were trampled on alike by friends and 
foes ; those whose weapons were broken, retired from the front 
rank, and had their place supplied by others ; while the rearward 
ranks, unable otherwise to share in the combat, fired their pistols, 
and hurled their daggers and the points and truncheons of the 
broken weapons, like javelins against the enemy. 

“ God and the Queen! ” resounded from the one party ; “ God 
. 1 The narrowest part. 


THE ABBOT. 


5 r 5 

and the King!” thundered from the other; while, in the name 
of their Sovereign, fellow-subjects on both sides shed each other’s 
blood, and, in the name of their Creator, defaced his image. 
Amid the tumult was often heard the voices of the captains, 
shouting their commands ; of leaders and chiefs, crying their 
gathering words ; of groans and shrieks from the falling and the 
dying. 

The strife had lasted nearly an hour. The strength of both par- 
ties seemed exhausted ; but their rage was unabated, and their 
obstinacy unsubdued, when Roland, who turned eye and ear to 
all around him, saw a column of infantry, headed by a few 
horsemen, wheel round the base of the bank where he had sta- 
tioned himself, and, leveling their long lances, attack the flank 
of the Queen’s vanguard, closely engaged as they were in con- 
flict on their front. The very first glance showed him that the 
leader who directed this movement was the Knight of Avenel, 
his ancient master; and the next convinced him that its effect 
would be decisive. The result of the attack of fresh and un- 
broken forces upon the flank of those already wearied with a 
long and obstinate struggle, was, indeed, instantaneous. 

The column of the assailants, which had hitherto shown one 
dark, dense, and united line of helmets surmounted with plumage, 
was at once broken and hurled in confusion down the hill which 
they had so long endeavored to gain. In vain w r ere the leaders 
heard calling upon their followers to stand to the combat, and seen 
personally resisting when all resistance was evidently vain. They 
were slain, or felled to the earth, or hurried backwards by the 
mingled tide of flight and pursuit. What were Roland’s feel- 
ings on beholding the rout, and feeling that all that remained for 
him was to turn bridle, and endeavor to insure the safety of the 
Queen’s person ! Yet, keen as his grief and shame might be, 
they were both forgotten when, almost close beneath the bank 
which he occupied, he saw Henry Seyton forced away from his 
own party in the tumult, covered with dust and blood, and de- 
fending himself desperately against several of the enemy who 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


5 l6 

had gathered around him, attracted by his gay armor. Roland 
paused not a moment, but pushing his steed down the bank, 
leaped him amongst the hostile party, dealt three or four blows 
amongst them, which struck down two, and made the rest stand 
aloof ; then reaching Seyton his hand, he exhorted him to seize 
fast on his horse’s mane. 

“ We live or die together this day,” said he ; “ keep but fast 
hold till we are out of the press, and then my horse is yours.” 

Seyton heard, and exerted his remaining strength, and, by their 
joint efforts, Roland brought him out of danger, and behind the 
spot from whence he had witnessed the disastrous conclusion of 
the fight. But no sooner were they under shelter of the trees, than 
Seyton let go his hold, and, in spite of Roland’s efforts to support 
him, fell at length on the turf. “ Trouble yourself no more with 
me,” he said ; “ this is my first and my last battle, and I have 
already seen too much of it to wish to see the close. Hasten 
to save the Queen — and commend me to Catherine. She will 
never more be mistaken for me nor I for her. The last sword 
stroke has made an eternal distinction.” 

“ Let me aid you to mount my horse,” said Roland eagerly, 
“ and you may yet be saved. I can find my own way on foot. 
Turn but my horse’s head westward, and he will carry you fleet 
and easy as the wind.” 

“ I will never mount steed more,” said the youth ; “ farewell. 
I love thee better dying, than ever I thought to have done while 
in life. — I would that old man’s blood were not on my hand ! — 
Sajicte Benedicte , ora pro me! 1 — Stand not to look on a dying 
man, but haste to save the Queen! ” 

These words were spoken with the last effort of his voice, and 
scarce were they uttered ere the speaker was no more. They 
recalled Roland to a sense of the duty which he had well-nigh 
forgotten, but they did not reach his ears only. 

“The Queen — where is the Queen? ” said Halbert Glendin- 
ning, who, followed by two or three horsemen, appeared at this 
1 St. Benedicts pray for me ! 


THE ABBOT. 


5*7 

instant. Roland made no answer, but, turning his horse, and 
confiding in his speed, gave him at once rein and spur, and rode 
over height and hollow towards the Castle of Crookstone. More 
heavily armed, and mounted upon a horse of less speed, Sir 
Halbert Glendinning followed with couched lance, calling out as 
he rode, “ Sir with the holly branch, halt, and show your right to 
bear that badge. Fly not thus cowardly, nor dishonor the cog- 
nizance thou deservest not to wear! Halt, Sir Coward, or, by 
Heaven, I will strike thee with my lance on the back, and slay 
thee like a dastard. I am the Knight of Avenel — I am Halbert 
Glendinning.” 

But Roland, who had no purpose of encountering his old mas- 
ter, and who, besides, knew the Queen’s safety depended on his 
making the best speed he could, answered not a word to the 
defiances and reproaches which Sir Halbert continued to throw 
out against him ; but making the best use of his spurs, rode yet 
harder than before, and had gained about a hundred yards upon 
his pursuer, when, coming near to the yew tree where he had 
left the Queen, he saw them already getting to horse, and cried 
out as loud as he could, “Foes! foes! Ride for it, fair ladies ! — 
Brave gentlemen, do your devoir to protect them!” 

So saying, he wheeled his horse, and avoiding the shock of Sir 
Halbert Glendinning, charged one of that Knight’s followers, who 
was nearly on a line with him, so rudely with his lance that he 
overthrew horse and man. He then drew his sword and attacked 
the second, while the black man-at-arms, throwing himself in the 
way of Glendinning, they rushed on each other so fiercely that 
both horses were overthrown, and the riders lay rolling on the 
plain. Neither was able to arise, for the black horseman was 
pierced through with Glendinning’s lance, and the Knight of 
Avenel, oppressed with the weight of his own horse, and sorely 
bruised besides, seemed in little better plight than he whom he 
had mortally wounded. 

“ Yield thee, Sir Knight of Avenel, rescue or no rescue,” said 
Roland, who had put a second antagonist out of condition to 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


5 l8 

combat, and hastened to prevent Glendinning from renewing the 
conflict. 

“ I may not choose but yield,” said Sir Halbert, “ since I can 
no longer fight ; but it shames me to speak such a word to a 
coward like thee! ” 

“ Call me not coward,” $aid Roland, lifting his visor and help- 
ing his prisoner to rise, “ since but for old kindness at thy hands, 
and yet more at thy lady’s, I had met thee as a brave man should.” 

“The favorite page of my wife!” said Sir Halbert, astonished. 
“Ah! wretched boy, I have heard of thy treason at Lochleven.” 

“ Reproach him not, my brother,” said the Abbot, “he was but 
an agent in the hands of Heaven.” 

“To horse, to horse!” said Catherine Seyton ; “mount and 
begone, or we are all lost. I see our gallant army flying for 
many a league. To horse, my Lord Abbot — To horse, Roland 
— My gracious Liege, to horse ! Ere this, we should have ridden 
a mile.” 

“ Look on these features,” said Mary, pointing to the dying 
knight, who had been unhelmed by some compassionate hand ; 
“ look there, and tell me if she who ruins all who love her, ought 
to fly a foot farther to save her wretched life! ” 

The reader must have long anticipated the discovery which 
the Queen’s feelings had made before her eyes confirmed it. It 
was the features of the unhappy George Douglas, on which death 
was stamping his mark. 

“ Look, look at him well,” said the Queen. “ Thus has it 
been with all who loved Mary Stuart! The royalty of Francis, 
the wit of Chastelar, the power and gallantry of the gay Gordon , 1 
the melody of Rizzio, the portly form and youthful grace of 
Darnley, the bold address and courtly manners of Bothwell, and 

1 .Sir John Gordon, whose father, Earl of Huntley, tried to marry him 
to Mary. In 1562 he escaped from prison, whither he had been committed 
because of a duel, joined his father’s rebellion, probably with the purpose of 
carrying off the Queen, but was taken and executed at once. Mary was 
present at the execution, but fainted before it was over. 


THE ABBOT. 


5 J 9 

now the deep-devoted passion of the noble Douglas ! Naught 
could save them! They looked on the wretched Mary, and to 
have loved her was crime enough to deserve early death ! No 
sooner had the victim formed a kind thought of me, than the 
poisoned cup, the ax and block, the dagger, the mine, were ready 
to punish them for casting away affection on such a wretch as I 
am! Importune me not. I will fly no farther. I can die but 
once, and I will die here!” 

While she spoke, her tears fell fast on the face of the dying 
man, who continued to fix his eyes on her with an eagerness of 
passion which death itself could hardly subdue. “ Mourn not 
for me,” he said faintly, “ but care for your own safety. I die 
in mine armor as a Douglas should, and I die pitied by Mary 
Stuart! ” 

He expired with these words, and without withdrawing his eyes 
from her face ; and the Queen, whose heart was of that soft and 
gentle mold which, in domestic life, and with a more suitable part- 
ner than Darnley, might have made her happy, remained weeping 
by the dead man until recalled to herself by the Abbot, who found 
it necessary to use a style of unusual remonstrance. “We also, 
madam,” he said, “we, your Grace’s devoted followers, have 
friends and relatives to weep for. I leave a brother in imminent 
jeopardy ; the husband of the Lady Fleming, the father and 
brothers of the Lady Catherine, are all in yonder bloody field, 
slain, it is to be feared, or prisoners. We forget the fate of our 
own nearest and dearest, to wait on our Queen, and she is too 
much occupied with her own sorrows to give one thought to ours.” 

“ I deserve not your reproach, father,” said the Queen, check- 
ing her tears; “but I am docile to it. Where must we go — 
what must we do ? ” 

“ We must fly, and that instantly,” said the Abbot ; “ whither 
is not so easily answered, but we may dispute 1 it upon the road. 
— Lift her to her saddle, and set forward.” 

They set off accordingly. Roland lingered a moment, to 

i Discuss. 


5 20 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


command the attendants of the Knight of Avenel to convey their 
master to the Castle of Crookstone, and to say that he demanded 
from him no other condition of liberty than his word that he 
and his followers would keep secret the direction in which the 
Queen fled. As he turned his rein to depart, the honest counte- 
nance of Adam Woodcock stared upon him with an expression 
of surprise, which, at another time, would have excited his hearty 
mirth. He had been one of the followers who had experienced 
the weight of Roland’s arm, and they now knew each other, 
Roland having put up his visor, and the good yeoman having 
thrown away his barret cap, with the iron bars in front, that he 
might the more readily assist his master. Into this barret cap, 
as it lay on the ground, Roland forgot not to drop a few gold 
pieces, fruits of the Queen’s liberality, and with a signal of kind 
recollection and enduring friendship, he departed at full gallop 
to overtake the Queen, the dust raised by her train being already 
far down the hill. 

“ It is not fairy-money,” 1 said honest Adam, weighing and 
handling the gold, “ and it was Master Roland himself, that is 
a certain thing, — the same open hand, and, by Our Lady!” 
(shrugging his shoulders) “the same ready fist! My Lady will 
hear of this gladly, for she mourns for him as if he were her son. 
And to see how gay he is ! But these light lads are as sure to 
be uppermost as the froth to be on the top of the quart pot. 
Your man of solid parts remains ever a falconer.” So saying, he 
went to aid his comrades, who had now come up in greater 
numbers, to carry his master into the Castle of Crookstone. 

1 Fairies were thought to deceive mortals by giving to leaves, or other 
worthless things, a transient appearance of coin. 


THE ABBOT. 


5 21 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

M ANY a bitter tear was shed, during the hasty flight of 
Queen Mary, over fallen hopes, future prospects, and 
slaughtered friends. The deaths of the brave Douglas and of 
the fiery but gallant young Seyton, seemed to affect the Queen 
as much as the fall from the throne on which she had so nearly 
been again seated. Catherine Seyton devoured in secret her own 
grief, anxious to support the broken spirits of her mistress ; and 
the Abbot, bending his troubled thoughts upon futurity, endeav- 
ored in vain to form some plan which had a shadow of hope. 
The spirit of young Roland — for he also mingled in the hasty 
debates held by the companions of the Queen’s flight — continued 
unchecked and unbroken. 

“Your Majesty,” he said, “has lost a battle. Your ancestor, 
Bruce, lost seven successively ere he sat triumphant on the Scot- 
tish throne, and proclaimed with the voice of a victor, in the field 
of Bannockburn , 1 * the independence of his country. Are not 
these heaths, which we may traverse at will, better than the 
locked, guarded, and lake-moated Castle of Lochleven ? We 
are free ; in that one word there is comfort for all our losses.” 

He struck a bold note, but the heart of Mary made no re- 
sponse. 

“ Better,” she said, “ I had still been in Lochleven, than seen 
the slaughter made by rebels among the subjects who offered 
themselves to death for my sake. Speak not to me of further 
efforts ; they would only cost the lives of you, the friends who 
recommend them ! I would not again undergo what I felt 
when I saw from yonder mount the swords of the fell horsemen* 
of Morton raging among the faithful Seytons and Hamiltons, 
for their loyalty to their Queen ; I would not again feel what I 

1 In this great battle, fought near Stirling in 1314, an immense English 

army under Edward II. was utterly routed by a smaller army of Scots. 


522 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


felt when Douglas’s lifeblood stained my mantle for his love to 
Mary Stuart ; not to be empress of all that Britain’s seas inclose. 
Find for me some place where I can hide my unhappy head, 
which brings destruction on all who love it. It is the last favor 
that Mary asks of her faithful followers.” 

In this dejected mood, but still pursuing her flight with un- 
abated rapidity, the unfortunate Mary, after having been joined 
by Lord Herries and a few followers, at length halted, for the 
first time, at the Abbey of Dundrennan, nearly sixty miles dis- 
tant from the field of battle. In this remote corner of Galloway, 
the Reformation not having yet been strictly enforced against 
the monks, a few still lingered in their cells unmolested ; and 
the Prior, with tears and reverence, received the fugitive Queen 
at the gate of his convent. 

“ I bring you ruin, my good father,” said the Queen, as she 
was lifted from her palfrey. 

“ It is welcome,” said the Prior, “ if it comes in the train of 
duty.” 

Placed on the ground, and supported by her ladies, the Queen 
looked for an instant at her palfrey, which, jaded, and drooping 
its head, seemed as if it mourned the distresses of its mistress. 

“ Good Roland,” said the Queen, whispering, “ let Rosabelle 
be cared for. Ask thy heart, and it will tell thee why I make 
this trifling request even in this awful hour.” 

She was conducted to her apartment, and in the hurried con- 
sultation of her attendants, the fatal resolution of the retreat to 
England was finally adopted. In the morning it received her 
approbation, and a messenger was dispatched to the English 
warden , 1 to pray him for safe-conduct and hospitality on the 
part of the Queen of Scotland. On the next day the Abbot 
Ambrose walked in the garden of the Abbey with Roland, to 
whom he expressed his disapprobation of the course pursued. 
“ It is madness and ruin,” he said. “ Better commit herself to 
the savage Highlanders or wild Bordermen, than to the faith of 
1 A nobleman charged with the protection of a frontier. 


THE ABBOT. 


5 2 3 

Elizabeth. A woman to a rival woman! A presumptive suc- 
cessor 1 to the keeping of a jealous and childless Queen! Ro- 
land, Herries is true and loyal, but his counsel has ruined his 
mistress.” 

“ Ay, ruin follows us everywhere,” said an old man, with a 
spade in his hand, and dressed like a lay brother, of whose presence, 
in the vehemence of his exclamation, the Abbot had not been 
aware. “ Gaze not on me with such wonder! I am he who was 
the Abbot Boniface at Kennaquhair, who was the gardener Blink- 
hoolie at Lochleven, hunted round to the place in which I served 
my novitiate, and now ye are come to rouse me up again! A 
weary life I have had for one to whom peace was ever the dearest 
blessing! ” 

“We will soon rid you of our company, good father,” said the 
Abbot ; “ and the Queen will, I fear, trouble your retreat no more.” 

“ Nay, you said as much before,” said the querulous old man, 
“ and yet I was put forth from Kinross, and pillaged by troopers 
on the road. They took from me the certificate that you wot of, 
— that of the Baron. Ay, he was a mosstrooper 2 like themselves. 
You asked me of it, and I could never find it, but they found it. 
It showed the marriage of — of — my memory fails me. Now 
see how men differ! Father Nicholas would have told you an 
hundred tales of the Abbot Ingelram, on whose soul God have 
mercy! He was, I warrant you, fourscore and six, and I am 
not more than — let me see ” — 

“ Was not Avenel the name you seek, my good father? ” said 
Roland impatiently, yet moderating his tone for fear of alarming 
or offending the infirm old man. 

“Ay, right — Avenel, Julian Avenel. You are perfect in the 

1 “ Presumptive successor,” i.e., heir presumptive ; a probable heir, whose 
expectations may be defeated by the birth of a nearer relative. Mary’s claim 
was good only while Elizabeth had no children. 

2 A Border-rider ; so called from the mosses, or morasses, forming a great 
part of the Border country, and admirably fitted to the requirements of rob- 
bers and outlaws. 


5 2 4 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


name. I kept all the special confessions, judging it held with 
my vow to do so. I could not find it when my successor, 
Ambrosius, spoke on’t, but the troopers found it, and the knight 
who commanded the party struck his breast till the target clattered 
like an empty watering can.” 

“ St. Mary ! ” said the Abbot, “ in whom could such a paper ex- 
cite such interest! What was the appearance of the knight, — 
his arms, his colors ? ” 

“Ye distract me with your questions. I dared hardly look at 
him ; they charged me with bearing letters for the Queen, and 
searched my mail. This was all along of your doings at Loch- 
leven.” 

“ I trust in God,” said the Abbot to Roland who stood beside 
him shivering and trembling with impatience, “the paper has 
fallen into the hands of my brother. I heard he had been with 
his followers on the scout betwixt Stirling and Glasgow. — Bore 
not the knight a holly bough in his helmet ? Canst thou not 
remember ? ” 

“ Oh, remember — remember,” said the old man pettishly ; 
“ count as many years as I do, if your plots will let you, and see 
what, and how much, you remember. Why, I scarce remember 
the pearmains 1 which I graffed here with my own hands some 
fifty years since.” 

At this moment a bugle sounded loudly from the beach. 

“It is the death blast to Queen Mary’s royalty,” said Ambro- 
sius ; “ the English warden’s answer has been received ; favorable 
doubtless, for when was the door of the trap closed against the 
prey which it was set for ? Droop not, Roland. This matter 
shall be sifted to the bottom, but we must not now leave the 
Queen. Follow me ; let us do our duty, and trust the issue with 
God. — Farewell, good father. I will visit thee again soon.” 

He was about to leave the garden, followed by Roland with 
half reluctant steps. The ex-abbot resumed his spade. 

“ I could be sorry for these men,” he said, “ ay, and for that 
1 A variety of apple tree. 


THE ABBOT 


525 

poor Queen ; but what avail earthly sorrows to a man of fourscore ? 
and it is a rare dropping morning for the early cole wort .” 1 

“ He is stricken with age,” said Ambrosius, as he dragged Ro- 
land down to the seabeach ; “ we must let him take his time to 
collect himself. Nothing now can be thought on but the fate of 
the Queen.” 

They soon arrived where she stood, surrounded by her little 
train, and by her side the sheriff of Cumberland, a gentleman of 
the House of Lowther, richly dressed and accompanied by soldiers. 
The aspect of the Queen exhibited a singular mixture of alacrity 
and reluctance to depart. Her language and gestures spoke hope 
and consolation to her attendants, and she seemed desirous to 
persuade even herself that the step she adopted was secure, and 
that the assurance she had received of kind reception was alto- 
gether satisfactory ; but her quivering lip and unsettled eye be- 
trayed at once her anguish at departing from Scotland, and her 
fears of confiding herself to the doubtful faith of England. 

“ Welcome, my Lord Abbot,” she said, speaking to Ambrosius, 
“ and you, Roland Avenel, we have joyful news for you. Our 
loving sister’s officer proffers us, in her name, a safe asylum from 
the rebels who have driven us from our home ; only it grieves 
me we must here part from you for a short space.” 

“ Part from us, madam! ” said the Abbot. “ Is your welcome 
in England, then, to commence with the abridgment of your train, 
and dismissal of your counselors ? ” 

“ Take it not thus, good father,” said Mary ; “ the warden and 
the sheriff, faithful servants of our royal sister, deem it necessary 
to obey her instructions in the present case, even to the letter, 
and can only take upon them to admit me with my female at- 
tendants. An express will instantly be dispatched from London, 
assigning me a place of residence ; and I will speedily send to 
alf of you whenever my court shall be formed.” 

“Your court formed in England! and while Elizabeth lives 

1 “A rare dropping morning,” etc., i.e., a fine morning for planting the 
early cabbage. 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


526 

and reigns ? ” said the Abbot. “ That will be when we shall see 
two suns in one heaven ! ” 

“ Do not think so,” replied the Queen ; “ we are well assured 
of our sister’s good faith. Elizabeth loves fame ; and not all 
that she has won by her power and her wisdom will equal that 
which she will acquire by extending her hospitality to a distressed 
sister! Not all that she may hereafter do of good, wise, and 
great, would blot out the reproach of abusing our confidence. — 
Farewell, my page, now my knight; farewell for a brief season. 
I will dry the tears of Catherine, or I will weep with her till 
neither of us can weep longer.” She held out her hand to Roland, 
who, flinging himself on his knees, kissed it with much emotion. 
He was about to render the same homage to Catherine, when the 
Queen, assuming an air of sprightliness, said, “ Her lips, thou 
foolish boy! — and, Catherine, coy it not; these English gentle- 
men should see that even in our cold clime Beauty knows how 
to reward Bravery and Fidelity!” 

“We are. not now to learn the force of Scottish beauty, or the 
mettle of Scottish valor,” said the sheriff of Cumberland court- 
eously. “ I would it were in my power to bid these attendants 
upon her who is herself the mistress of Scottish beauty, as wel- 
come to England as my poor cares would make them. But our 
Queen’s orders are positive in case of such an emergence, and 
they must not be disputed by her subject. May I remind your 
Majesty that the tide ebbs fast ? ” 

The sheriff took the Queen’s hand, and she had already placed 
her foot on the gangway, by which she was to enter the skiff, 
when the Abbot, starting from a trance of grief and astonishment 
at the words of the sheriff, rushed into the water, and seized upon 
her mantle. 

“ She foresaw it ! She foresaw it ! ” he exclaimed, “ she fore- 
saw your flight into her realm ; and, foreseeing it, gave orders 
you should be thus received. Blinded, deceived, doomed Princess ! 
your fate is sealed when you quit this strand. Queen of Scotland, 
thou shalt not leave thine heritage! ” he continued, holding a still 


THE ABBOT. 


5 2 7 


firmer grasp upon her mantle ; “ true men shall turn rebels to thy 
will, that they may save thee from captivity or death. Fear not 
the bills and bows whom that gay man has at his beck ; we will 
withstand him by force. Oh, for the arm of my warlike brother! 
— Roland Avenel, draw thy sword ! ” 

The Queen stood irresolute and frightened; one foot upon 
the plank, the other on the sand of her native shore which she 
was quitting forever. 

“ What needs this violence, Sir Priest ? ” said the sheriff £>f 
Cumberland. “ I came hither at your Queen’s command, to do 
her service ; and I will depart at her least order, if she rejects 
such aid as I can offer. No marvel is it if our Queen’s wisdom 
foresaw that such chance as this might happen amidst the turmoils 
of your unsettled State ; and, while willing to afford fair hospi- 
tality to her royal sister, deemed it wise to prohibit the entrance 
of a broken army of her followers into the English frontier.” 

“ You hear,” said Queen Mary, gently unloosing her robe from 
the Abbot’s grasp, “ that we exercise full liberty of choice in leav- 
ing this shore ; and, questionless, the choice will remain free to 
us in going to France, or returning to our own dominions, as we 
shall determine. Besides, it is too late. Your blessing, father, 
and God speed thee! ” 

“ May He have mercy on thee, Princess, and speed thee also! ” 
said the Abbot retreating. “ But my soul tells me I look on thee 
for the last time ! ” 

The sails were hoisted, the oars were plied, the vessel went 
freshly on her way through the frith which divides the shores 
of Cumberland from those of Galloway ; but not till the vessel 
diminished to the size of a child’s frigate did the doubtful, and 
dejected, and dismissed followers of the Queen cease to linger 
on the sands ; and long, long could they discern the kerchief of 
Mary, as she waved the oft-repeated signal of adieu to her faith- 
ful adherents, and to the shores of Scotland . 1 

l Mary was taken first to Carlisle ; but as her presence in the north of 
England proved the signal for a revolt of the Houses of Neville and Percy, 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


528 

If good tidings of a private nature could have consoled Roland 
for parting with his mistress, and for the distresses of his Sovereign, 
he received such comfort some days subsequent to the Queen’s 
leaving Dundrennan. A breathless post — no other than Adam 
Woodcock — brought dispatches from Sir Halbert Glendinning 
to the Abbot, whom he found with Roland still residing at Dun- 
drennan, and in vain torturing Boniface with fresh interroga- 
tions. The packet bore an earnest invitation to his brother to 
make Avenel Castle for a time his residence. “ The clemency 
of the Regent,” said the writer, “has extended pardon both to 
Roland and to you, upon condition of your remaining a time 
under my wardship ; and I have that to communicate respecting 
the parentage of Roland, which not only you will willingly listen 
to, but which will be also found to afford me, as the husband of 
his nearest relative, some interest in the future course of his life.” 

The Abbot read this letter, and paused, as if considering what 
were best for him to do. Meanwhile, Woodcock took Roland 
aside, and addressed him as follows: “Now, look, Mr. Roland, 
that you do not let any papistry nonsense lure either the priest or 
you from the right quarry. See you, you ever bore yourself as a 
bit of a gentleman. Read that, and thank God that threw old 
Abbot Boniface in our way, as two of the Seyton’s men were 
conveying him towards Dundrennan here. We searched him for 
intelligence concerning that fair exploit of yours at Lochleven, 
that has cost many a man his life, and me a set of sore bones ; 
and we found what is better for your purpose than ours.” 

who, with a large minority of Englishmen, looked to Mary as the restorer of 
the Catholic faith, she was brought southward from prison to prison. Mary 
formed plot after plot ; finally that of Anthony Babington was discovered, 
and with it letters of Mary, approving the purposed assassination of Queen 
Elizabeth. She was tried and condemned. On Feb. 1, 1587, Elizabeth, 
who had probably hoped to restore her in time to tjie throne of Scotland, re- 
luctantly signed her death warrant, and on Feb. 8, after nearly twenty years 
of captivity, she was beheaded in her prison of Fotheringay Castle. She was 
buried in Peterborough Cathedral, and moved by James VI. to Henry VII. ’s 
chapel in Westminster Abbey. 


THE ABBOT. 


5 2 9 


The paper which he gave, was, indeed, an attestation by Father 
Philip, subscribing himself unworthy sacristan and brother of the 
House of St. Mary’s, stating that under a vow of secrecy he had 
united in the holy sacrament of marriage, Julian Avenel and 
Catherine Graeme ; but that Julian, having repented of his union, 
he, Father Philip, had been sinfully prevailed on by him to con- 
ceal and disguise the same, according to a complot devised be- 
twixt him and the said Julian Avenel, wdiereby the poor damsel 
was induced to believe that the ceremony had been performed 
by one not in holy orders, and having no authority to that effect. 
Which sinful concealment the undersigned conceived to be the 
cause why he was abandoned to the misguiding of a water fiend , 1 
whereby he had been under a spell which obliged him to answer 
every question, even touching the most solemn matters, with idle 
snatches of old songs, besides being sorely afflicted with rheumatic 
pains ever after. Wherefore he had deposited this testificate 2 3 
and confession, with the day and date of the said marriage, with 
his lawful superior Boniface, Abbot of St. Mary’s, sub sigillo con- 
fessionis? 

It appeared by a letter from Julian, folded carefully up with 
the certificate, that the Abbot Boniface had, in effect, bestirred 
himself in the affair, and obtained from the Baron a promise to 
avow his marriage ; but the death of both Julian and his injured 
bride, together with the Abbot’s resignation, his ignorance of the 
fate of their unhappy offspring, and above all, the good father’s 
listless and inactive disposition, had suffered the matter to be- 
come totally forgotten, until it was recalled by some accidental 
conversation with the Abbot Ambrosius concerning the fortunes 
of the Avenel family. At the request of his successor, the quon- 
dam Abbot made search for it ; but as he would receive no assist- 
ance in looking among the few records of spiritual experiences 

1 See Note 2, p. 147. 

2 In Scottish law, a declaration, made in writing, but not upon oath. 

3 Under the seal of confession. This binds the confessor to silence re- 
garding the confession. 

34 


530 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


and important confessions which he had conscientiously treas- 
ured, it might have remained forever hidden amongst them but 
for the more active researches of Sir Halbert Glendinning. 

“ So that you are like to be heir of Avenel at last, Master 
Roland, after my Lord and Lady have gone to their place,” said 
Adam ; “ and as I have but one boon to ask, I trust you will not 
nick me with nay .” 1 

“ Not if it be in my power to say yes, my trusty friend.” 

“Why then, I must needs, if I live to see that day, keep on 
feeding the eyases with unwashed flesh,” said Woodcock sturdily, 
yet as if doubting the reception that his request might meet with. 

“Thou shalt feed them with what you list for me,” said Roland, 
laughing ; “ I am not many months older than when I left the 
castle, but I trust I have gathered wit enough to cross no man 
of skill in his own vocation.” 

“ Then I would not change places with the King’s falconer,” 
said Adam Woodcock, “nor with the Queen’s neither; but they 
say she will be mewed up and never need one. I see it grieves 
you to think of it, and I could grieve for company ; but what 
help for it ? Fortune will fly her own flight, let a man hollo him- 
self hoarse.” 

The Abbot and Roland journeyed to Avenel, where the former 
was tenderly received by his brother, while the Lady wept for joy 
to find that in her favorite orphan she had protected the sole sur- 
viving branch of her own family. Sir Halbert Glendinning and 
his household were not a little surprised at the change which a 
brief acquaintance with the world had produced in their former 
inmate, and rejoiced to find in the pettish, spoiled, and presuming 
page, a modest and unassuming young man, too much acquainted 
with his own expectations and character to be hot or petulant in 
demanding the consideration which was readily and voluntarily 
yielded to him. The old major-domo, Wingate, was the first to 
sing his praises, to which Mistress Lilias bore a loud echo, always 
hoping that God would teach him the true gospel. 

1 “Nick me,” etc., i.e., disappoint me with no; literally, nod a refusal. 


THE ABBOT. 


531 


To the true gospel the heart of Roland had secretly long in- 
clined, and the departure of the good Abbot for France, with 
the purpose of entering into some house of his order in that king- 
dom, removed his chief objection to renouncing the Catholic faith. 
Another might have existed in the duty which he owed to 
Magdalen Grseme, both by birth and from gratitude. But he 
learned, ere he had been long a resident in Avenel, that his grand- 
mother had died at Cologne , 1 in the performance of a penance 
too severe for her age, which she had taken upon herself in be- 
half of the Queen and Church of Scotland, so soon as she heard 
of the defeat at Langside. The zeal of the Abbot Ambrosius 
was more regulated ; but he retired into the Scottish convent of 

, and so lived there, that the fraternity were inclined to claim 

for him the honors of canonization . 2 But he guessed their pur- 
pose, and prayed them, on his deathbed, to do no honors to the 
body of one as sinful as themselves ; but to send his body and 
his heart to be buried in Avenel burial aisle in the Monastery of 
St. Mary’s, that the last Abbot of that celebrated house of devo- 
tion might sleep among its ruins. 

Long before that period arrived, Roland Avenel was wedded 
to Catherine Seyton, who, after two years’ residence with her 
unhappy mistress, was dismissed upon her being subjected to 
closer restraint than had been at first exercised. She returned to 
her father’s house, and as Roland was acknowledged for the suc- 
cessor and lawful heir of the ancient House of Avenel, greatly 
increased as the estate was by the providence of Sir Halbert 
Glendinning, there occurred no objections to the match on the 
part of her family. Her mother was recently dead when she first 
entered the convent ; and her father, in the unsettled times which 
followed Queen Mary’s flight to England, was not averse to an 
alliance with a youth who, himself loyal to Queen Mary, still 
held some influence, through means of Sir Halbert Glendinning, 
with the party in power. 

1 A German city on the Rhine. 

2 Enrollment in the catalogue of the saints. 


532 


SIR WALTER SCOTT. 


Roland and Catherine, therefore, were united, spite of their 
differing faiths ; and the White Lady, whose apparition had been 
infrequent when the House of Avenel seemed verging to extinc- 
tion, was seen to sport by her haunted well, with a zone of gold 1 
around her bosom as broad as the baldric of an earl. 

1 This girdle, on which depended the life of the phantom, had waned as 
the family of Avenel approached extinction, and at the close of The Monas- 
tery was reduced, by the childless marriage of Halbert Glendinning and 
Mary Avenel, “ to the fineness of a silken thread.” 


GLOSSARY. 


Abbess. The head of a nunnery. 

Advices. Counsels ; messages. 

Almoner. A chaplain. 

Amble. A pace ; a gentle gait. 

Ane. One; a. 

Annull. Annul ; to make void. 

Babylone. Babylon ; the ancient 

- W f Chaldea * 

- A short, single-edged 

sed chiefly for slashing. 

The national musical in - 
rV - A of Scotland, consisting of 
a leather bag into which air is blown, 
and pipes through which the air es- 
capes when the bag is pressed by 
the elbow. 

Baith. Bfcth. 

Baldric. A belt for carrying a 
sword or horn. 

Bandog. A large, fierce dog; in 
England, generally a mastiff. 

Baronage, i. The whole body of 
barons or peers. 2. The dignity 
or rank of a baron. 

Barret cap. A flat cap worn by 
soldiers. 

Basket hilt. A sword having bas- 
ketwork protection for the hand. 

Basnet. A light helmet. 

Battlement. i. The indented 
parapet crowning a fortification. 

n „he broad top of the wall be- 
iiina the parapet. 


Bauble, i. A trifle. 2. A jester’s 
staff of office. 

Bean-cod. Bean-pod. 

Benedicite. “ God bless you ;” the 
ordinary greeting of a priest. 

Bill. A weapon consisting of a long 
staff with a scythe-like blade, bear- 
ing two sharp pikes. 

Bodle. A small Scotch coin worth 
about one sixth of an English penny. 

Bolt. A short, thick, iron missile 
sent from a crossbow. 

Bolthead. A long glass vessel with 
a straight neck, used in distillation. 

Booth. An open stall ; a shop. 

Buckler. A small, round shield. 

Canting. Hypocritical ; whining. 

Carabine. Carbine; a short, light 
musket or rifle. 

Caravansary. An Eastern inn pro- 
viding only shelter. 

Carrion, i. A dead body; hence, 
2. A term of contempt. 

Cates. Delicacies. 

Cock. i. A leader, or ruling spirit. 
2. To cock ; to turn up in a jaunty 
or significant manner. 

Cockade. A badge of service, worn 
usually in the hat. 

Cope. A priest’s mantle. 

Corselet. The breastplate of a suit 
of armor; or, the breastplate and 
backpiece taken together. 


533 


534 


GLOSSARY. 


Couch. To place a lance under the 
armpit and grasp it with the right 
hand, turning the point to the 
enemy. 

Court cattle. Contemptuous for 
courtiers. 

Crosier. Pastoral staff of a bishop 
or abbot, about five feet long, and 
surmounted by a crook or cross. 

Crossbow. A bow fixed across a 
stick, with a groove to direct the 
missile, and a notch to hold, and a 
trigger to release, the string. 

Crows. Crowbars. 

Culverin. The heaviest cannon in 
use in the sixteenth century. 

Dalmatique. A long, loose, ecclesi- 
astical vestment, with wide sleeves, 
left partly open at the sides. 

Demesne, i. Domain. 2. A manor 
house with the lands belonging to it. 

Demonology. The science and his- 
tory of evil spirits. 

Denizen. An inhabitant. 

Dirk. The long, heavy dagger worn 
by Highland gentlemen. 

Doughty. Valiant ; related to Eng- 
lish “do.” 

Drenched. Drowned. 

Dudgeon dagger. A dagger hav- 
ing an ornamental hilt of wood. 

Dungeon keep. The inner strong- 
hold of a castle. 

Embrasure. Enlargement of a door 
or window on the inside of a wall. 

Emergence. An emergency. 

Emprise. An enterprise. 

Enthralled. Held in bondage. 

Er. Ere. 

Esquire. An attendant on a knight. 

Everiche. Every. 

Fa. Befall. 


Fain. Ready. 

Falchion, A short sword, with a con- 
vex edge curved sharply to a point. 

Fell. Cruel; fatal. 

Fire-raising. Act of setting on fire. 

Frieze. A rough, woolen cloth. 

Gae. To go. 

Galliard. A spirited dance in which 
only two people take part. 

Galloway nag. A small horse from 
Galloway, the extreme southwest- 
ern district of Scotland. 

Gamester. A frolicsome person. 

Gauntlet, i. A steel glove worn 
with armor. 2. A thick leather 
glove covering part of the arm. 

Gazehound. A hound that 
game by sight rather than ' 
usually a greyhound. 

Gelding. A horse. 

Gorget. The part of a helmet vvmcii 
protects the throat. 

Goshawk. A small hawk, distin- 
guished from the true falcon by 
not having a notched bill ; used for 
taking ground game. 

Gospeller. A Protestant. 

Gousty. Gusty ; tempestuous ; 
hence, dreary. 

Gratulated. Congratulated. 

Groined. Made by intersecting 
arches. 

Halberdiers. Men armed with 
staves having both a point and a 
cutting crosspiece of steel. 

Handgun. The earliest kind of gun, 
made to be carried by hand and fired 
with or without a supporting fork. 

Hap. Chance. 

Harness. Armor. 

Harquebuss. A light firearm 

Headpiece. A helmet. 


GLOSSARY. 


535 


Heath. A waste; heather. 
Herald. An officer charged with 
the care of armorial bearings ; one 
who made proclamations. 

Heretic. The Roman Catholic 
name for a Protestant. 

Hierarchy. Government by a 
priesthood. 

Hind. A domestic servant or farm 
laborer ; hence, an awkward rustic. 
Hollow. To urge on by shouting. 
Hostelry. An inn. 

Hot blades. Hot-tempered fellows. 
Jack. i. A drinking vessel. 2. A 
coarse, cheap coat of defense, usu- 
ally of leather. 

Jackanapes, i. A keeper of apes. 
2. An ape. 

Jennet. A small, Spanish horse. 
Knapskull. A headpiece. 
Laggard. Slow ; inactive. 

Laird. A Scottish lord or proprietor. 
Lang-kale. Cabbage not headed. 
Lawing. Account ; bill. 

Leech. A physician. 

Liege. 1. One who owes allegiance. 

2. One to whom allegiance is due. 

3. Loyal. 

Lim. Limb. 

Ling. See Heath. 

List. To choose. 

Listneth. Listen. 

Livery. Costume of a retainer of a 
feudal lord. 

Longbow. A bow drawn by hand, 
discharging a long, feathered ar- 
row; especially the English bow, 
five feet long. 

Mair. More. 

Major-domo. A head steward. 
Malapert. Saucy. 

Malison. A curse. 


Masque. An entertainment in which 
the actors are fancifully disguised. 

Maw. A mouth. 

Menial. One of a retinue; hence, a 
term of contempt. 

Merk. A Scotch coin, worth about 
twenty-five cents. 

Mew. A cage for molting hawks. 

Mewed up. Caged, like a molting 
hawk. 

Miasmata. Plural of miasma, a 

poisonous exhalation. 

Mint. A small, aromatic plant of 
stimulating properties. 

Morion. A helmet which left the 
face uncovered. 

Muffler. A veil. 

Mum. Silence. 

Mummer. A disguised buffoon. 

Mummery. i. Masking; buffoon- 
ery. 2. Nonsense. 

Nese. Nose. 

New world. New government (cf. 
Latin novce res). 

Nicknackets. Knickknacks; odds 
and ends. 

Novice. One who has entered a 
convent on probation, but has not 
taken permanent vows. 

Obtestation. A calling to witness. 

Paramour. A lover.. 

Partisan, i. A long pike with two 
projecting, scythe-like blades. 2. 
One who takes sides. 

Pass. A crisis; a critical condition 
of affairs. 

Pennon. A small flag or banner of 
swallow-tail form. 

Peripatetic. Wandering from place 
to place. 

Petard. An early form of bomb- 
shell. 


C LOSS ARY. 


S3 6 " 

Petronel. A sort of large horse- 
pistol used in the sixteenth century. 

Pistolets. Small pistols. 

Poniard. A small dagger. 

Popinjay, i. A parrot. 2. A figure 
of a bird used as a mark in archery. 
3. A coxcomb. 

Postern gate. Back or private 
door or gate. 

Pottle. A vessel holding two quarts. 

Pricking. Pricking with the spur ; 
hence, riding rapidly. 

Provost. Chief magistrate, or may- 
or, of Scottish towns. 

Quadrangle. A four-sided court. 

Quarry. Prey. 

Quean. A woman; generally used 
disparagingly. 

Raid. An incursion for plunder. 

Ramp. To spring or dash about. 

Rapier. A long, narrow, two-edged 
sword. 

Rebeck. An ancient musical instru- 
ment resembling a violin. 

Reck. To care. 

Rede. i. Advice. 2. To counsel. 

Regimen. Rule. 

Retort. A vessel used by chemists 
in the process of distilling. 

Rochet. A short surplice with tight 
sleeves. 

Roke. A rock. 

Ruffle. To swagger, or put on 
airs ; to fight. 

Rung. A staff. 

Schismatic. A heretic. 

Scimiter. A short, curved sword, 
with a single edge. 

Scrip. A pouch. 

Se. The sea. 

Seneschal. The chief officer of a 
nobleman’s castle. 


Sententious. Given to the use of 
formal maxims. 

Sewer. A steward; the chief attend- 
ant at table. 

Shift. An expedient ; a trick. 

Shingly. Gravelly; pebbly. 

Shrewd. Harsh, bitter; shrewish. 

Sirrah. A modification of “ sir ” or 
“ sire,” with the contemptuous force 
of ‘'fellow.” 

Snatching. Stealing. 

Southron. Southern ; belonging to 
England or the south of Scotland. 

Sparrow hawk. A small, inferior 
kind of hawk. 

Spell. To explain ; to read. 

Springald. A youth. 

Staghound. A large and powerful 
hound formerly used in hunting 
large animals. 

Stick. To stop ; to hesitate. 

Stilet. Early form of stiletto. 

Stoup. A drinking vessel. 

Stricken. Struck. 

Subprior. The third in authority in 
a Benedictine monastery. 

Sworder. A common swordsman. 

Tabor. A small drum beaten with 
one stick. 

Teal duck. Ordinary duck. 

Tenor. Meaning. 

Tricked up. Dressed up. 

Truncheon. A short staff, or club. 

Vizard, i. A visor; a mask. 2. 
One who wears a mask. 

Wake. A revel. 

Weal. Welfare. 

Whinger. A long knife. 

Wicket. A small gate or door. 

Wing. To fly. 

Yeoman. A retainer; in England, 
a freeholder entitled to vote. 





















LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



